Shores of California
by PhaerynTao
Summary: Each Warner has made their own mistakes. Circumstances turn to proof that no matter what happens, they'll always come through for each other.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: This author is prone to writing large amounts of drama and displaying their affinity for semicolons. They're also going to get this cruddy author's note out of the way as soon as possible.

I don't do multi-chapters very often. Like, at _all._ So bear with me, please. Don't hesitate to call me on something. This is a huge step outside of my comfort zone, so this is quite a learning experience for me. So please, by all means, teach me. Its a bumpy start. In perhaps grammatical form and also pertaining to what gets thrown in your face from the start, but don't worry, the wrist cutting session won't last long. Large homages to the great writers of this fandom ensue, as well as an uncomfortable amount of pop culture references. Also, if need be, tell me if I should rate this higher.

And Madame Lady is a wonderful beta. In a way, half of this story is hers.

Don't own the Animaniacs, although I can definitely dream. I also don't own the title, which is actually a Dresden Dolls track. Thought it fit pretty well nonetheless.

* * *

And all these years she thought she knew the meaning of the word 'disaster'. All these years she thought _she _was the very meaning of the word disaster. And while back in the day she acted like a cretin and could be one in reality, she never knew it would come to something like this. Flashbacks of when she used to be smart started popping up in her mind, mocking her and laughing at her misfortune, but the numbness that had taken over the logical part of her wits made them seem like someone else's memories. That wasn't who she was anymore; why pretend that they were? 

A few years ago Dot Warner never would have pictured herself where she was now. And that place was in a bathroom stall of the hottest dance club in the district, crouched down on the filthy tiled floor. Her blurred vision faded in and out as she stared at her white fish net tights without focus. A shaky hand went up and pulled on the silver metal lever of the toilet, and she stared elsewhere at nothing in particular as the vomit in the porcelain bowl disappeared. She didn't know how long she had sat there, but time wasn't an issue anymore. Her life hand turned into something not unlike the contents that were in the toilet a few undistinguished moments ago. Dot reached up with her ungloved delicate black hand and attempted to rub the dizziness out of her eyes. What had gotten her this far was her hard earned ability to pretend like everything was okay. But…she honestly wasn't ready for this.

She knew she would pay for sleeping with him, she knew it. And even though it wasn't her fault, or her _choice_ for that matter, she still felt guilty for what was happening. She hated everything and everyone. There was no one she could turn to without having a long drawn out explanation about why everything went down the gutter. Down by her twisted knees there was her purse, and the tube shaped test that she took four days ago peeked out of the opening, bothering the hell out of her.

…………………………

**_Vague Backtrack_**

A few weeks ago, or months, she couldn't exactly recall which span of time it was, but she was at a party. It wasn't one of those 'lets get together and have a wine cooler' kind of parties. More or less everyone was strewn across different pieces of furniture, leaning over assorted coffee tables and snorting various substances into their noses. Dot sat on the arm of a couch as her date threw his head back after breathing at least five pinches of the stuff through his left nostril. Dot said nothing, just sat with a sour face as everyone got high all over themselves. She had tried it once, and only once, because the one time she did try it she ended up donning a revealing loin cloth outfit and tackling members of the district with a giant mallet. If she remembered correctly, she injured at least five toons and three humans in the process. Thank god it was dark; otherwise she would have been in jail. And pictures of her antics probably would've been put up everywhere from magazines to internet sites.

Not to mention she was ashamed of the realization that she could only pull off a good slapstick stunt when she was on something or completely hammered.

It was a sad day when a Warner failed to be comical. Not that she was constantly spewing new material out of her mouth; but it was the spirit of humor that normally kept toons going after their careers ended.

"That's the stuff…" Bimbo sighed hoarsely, brushing some flecks of powder away from the edges of his nostrils.

Dot's lips were painted a flattering shade of pink, and the one on top crinkled upwards into a sneer. It was an ugly look, only reserved for a man as both gracious and hideously disgusting as her boyfriend. The only reason she was even being seen in this dung heap was for the fact that Bimbo was only into the hard drugs. He was a rich bastard; even though Dot didn't know where he got his money, seeing as his earnings from his career had to be all dried up. Later that night they would probably return to his studio, which was unfairly large in an apartment building in the sickeningly rich half of the district, with her letting the canine-like…thing lean on her shoulder as she would try to lay him down to bed, but of course, being the horn dog that he was, he would drag her down and try to 'make love' to her. How he could call it that, she never did figure out.

He needed a fix at least twice a week, and in this way, it was usually Fridays and Saturdays that suffered the event. At about eight o'clock he'd tell her to put on something nice and they'd head over to the dingy part of town, where they would stay until midnight. Several times Dot thought about how ridiculous this was; how ridiculous _everything _seemed to be. And funnily enough she was actually starting to think a lot more again lately. Like all of the stupid juice in her brain had finally drained out and lucidity was coming back in its bittersweet glory. Bimbo seemed like a genial mutt at first when he pulled her off the street about two years ago after she blew all of her survival money on clubbing and getting wasted. In the beginning their relationship was like a new breath of life, and she actually felt happy again. They would go out to eat just about every night; they would sit in his gigantic studio and watch his appearances in_ Betty Boop _with immense amusement. Whenever the subject of where he got his money came up, he would simply laugh and say that he paid Max Fleischer some sexual favors and got some extra dough for keeping it quiet. He gave her a place to stay, some kindness, and a way to take her mind off of why she was there in the first place.

'Course, that was before he started doing the blow. If they didn't go out when he said so, he would get…violent. Not the eccentric kind of violence that didn't do any harm if you knew it was going to be used for comic effect. He would be violent with his words. From time to time Dot would find herself being the brunt of his words that he brayed at her like an ass on crack. He would say things like he was the one who took her off the corner, and he could put her back there like the whore she was meant to be, or that she was a failure and that she was probably screwing everyone behind the scenes just so she could get a few words in edgewise on screen. Dot would smirk and say something equally as bruising; she wasn't one to just _take _abuse and turn the other cheek, she fought back like she knew she should.

Bimbo's eyes were becoming a blazing red color, and occasionally he would moan in pain as a tiny river of blood would trickle out of his nose, but he just kept snorting it. Something clicked in Dot's mind, something that probably should have clicked a long time ago. She daintily slid off the arm of the couch and headed for the door, careful not to catch the attention of the addicts on the way; not that she could break their influenced trances anyway.

Let him kill himself; she was getting the hell out of there. Away from him. Where he could never touch her again.

"Babe…where ya goin…?"

She heard his voice, and promptly ignored it. Dot slammed the door of the apartment as hard as she could on her way out. It was cold out tonight. The northern pacific winds were blowing in this time of year. The night sky was clear, but no stars could be seen through the smog. She tugged the collar of her jacket higher around her neck and walked down the fire escape to the streets; where she was back where she started. This wasn't where she still wanted to be; she hated the streets. She hated the way homeless people, both human and toon always tugged on her arm and asked for different things, whether it was money or the standard "what's the going rate, hon?" Back when the fire inside of her burned a million times brighter, she would have given them a Geena Davis smile, and told them to back off before she castrated them and stuffed it down their throats.

Dot sighed. The streets beckoned to her even amidst her short lived happiness with Bimbo, but she never listened. She knew how to handle herself out on the roads of inner Los Angeles, but at that moment she wished she didn't. Maybe she would be fortunate enough to have some drunkard looking for a good time slap her around for her constant pestilence and finally finish her off.

_I _must_ be tired of life if I'm welcoming the thought of being murdered._

…………………………

**_Backtrack seven days_**

To any brainless tourist looking at a two dimensional map for reference, Los Angeles would seem like a winding maze with obstacles obstructing each path. But for the ones who walked its streets as a way of life, it was a well-learned tangled mess of streets. Dot always tried to wear a hood when she was in public, especially at night. If no one saw your face, then there was less of a chance that something would happen to you. She wasn't completely sure why, but that was just a lesson hard learned for her. When she first went out on her own she got mugged and harassed so much she wondered if there was a giant beacon on her head that said in neon letters 'come here if you want to molest someone'.

Tonight, Dot walked the streets not because she was without shelter. Her fiery red cheek smarted even more in this chilly weather. The events that happened only about an hour ago played behind her eyelids and were shaded a sultry unreal blue. Bimbo wanted to go do blow tonight, but she explained over and over again that she was just way too tired to go out. Obviously in his mind that meant that it was either going to a party, or staying in and fooling around.

"C'mon, we might as well. It's not like you're going to let us do anything else to fill up this Friday night." He drawled.

Dot didn't look at him. For if she did, he would have been able to see her hateful stare that was all for him.

"Why don't we just act like normal people for once, Bimbo? It seems like every other night we're either going to one of those freaking parties."

"And what, you don't like those?"

God, he was _such _a dumbass.

Dot turned around, not bothering to hide her anger at her boyfriend. "As a matter of fact, I _hate _those stupid parties. You _know _I don't do blow, you _know _I can't handle it. So…being around a bunch of high pricks doing blow would just be a big blast for me, right?"

"Baby…"

"God, _what _Bimbo?"

"Just come to bed and chill out. You'll feel a lot better, trust me."

Dot knew that getting too smart with him would result in something poor in her favor, but at that point she didn't care. It just seemed like everything she said to the guy went through one of his dog ears and came out the other.

"You mean _you'll _feel a lot better. Ha, I swear, there's nothing like having your boyfriend seizuring on top of you and then falling asleep in the next five minutes when he's barely even pulled out."

His dazed face was starting to look slightly coherent; a bad sign. But Dot didn't stop. She couldn't. And soon her long slender ears and tornado of wavy hair was swinging wildly as she kept verbally pushing her unstable boyfriend's limits.

"I honestly don't even see why you need _me _to come to these stupid parties. Just go by yourself, will ya? At least then I'd be able to get some sleep once in a while, what with you always hounding me for what's between my legs-"

_SLAP._

The sound of a palm against a soft rouge-colored cheek echoed through the studio. It happened too fast. The look on Dot's face was shock, anger, and realization all mixed into a traumatized expression that was now tearing up. But she didn't have enough time to soak it up, because he came at her again, and this time he grabbed both of her wrists with a frightening strength that made her gasp.

He turned her around and held her in a death grip to his body, and before starting to drag her to the bed in the corner of the studio, he whispered venomously into one of her black ears:

"What else are you good for anyway, sweetie?"

Bimbo was a loser. He was stupid. He was sick and disgusting and he could say horrible things. But she didn't think he would…do this. Never in the death of a thousand stars. Dot fought the urge to vomit all over the both of them and risk getting beaten to a pulp as he moved on top of her, trying his hardest to both hurt her and get himself off. But she had to swallow each projectile goad in order to keep her poise, or what little she still had. This didn't make sense; nothing made sense anymore.

Although it lasted for only about eight minutes, it felt like…_so _much longer than that. Dot stared at the dark ceiling as her boyfriend fell on the bed next to her in the sea of unclean blankets, fumbling the side table for a cigarette. Then he said something that made Dot want to flee. Just…grab her belongings and flee; which would have been possible if she owned even one thing in the studio.

"See babe? I pulled out that time, didn't I?"

Her breathing, already shallow, hitched at the comment.

Dot said nothing, and wished she didn't hear anything either. She had nothing resembling a problem with an uncouth lifestyle, but her inner radar was spinning madly, telling her to do something. _Anything. _Bimbo started snoring. Good. Dot silently slipped out of bed, dressed in loose clothing, grabbed her leather jacket and left the studio.

And that's why she was there. On the streets of a rich district in Los Angeles; with her head down and her distressed mentality trying to find even an inkling of peace. There were so many emotions she couldn't pick which one described her the most. She hated feeling like this. She hated the soreness between her legs, and she hated the way the cold seemed to lick at her discomfort with glee.

She also hated that she would have to go back later that night.

What would _they _say about her choices, she wondered. She wondered about their hypothesized opinions a lot; because something inside of her told her that it was possible she didn't know her brothers anymore.

Dot looked above her at the polluted sky. There wasn't even a hint of a star.

…………………………

**_Coming back…_**

She had been getting sick for weeks. Barfing on some divine impulse, it seemed like. She would be fine one moment and the next running for an inconspicuous alley where she could regurgitate in solitude. However this hell was anything but divine. About five days ago she stole a box of pregnancy tests on a falsely humorous whim. It was just another phase of feigning reality; she was away from Bimbo, what more could possibly happen to her? She was unchained from her isolated little world of domestic abuse and drugs, and she was going to taste her freedom slowly and elegantly. Like a wet tipped finger in a bowl of sweet crunchy sugar.

When she urinated on the strip of the test, it turned blue. And after double, _triple _taking the directions on the box, she stared at that blue strip like it was the devil in a tube.

She had a child growing inside of her. That alone was chilling in itself. A fresh unmolded soul being brought into the world by a screw up like her; scary. But while half of it was hers, the rest was…

Well, his.

There was no other way to describe it at the time. There was scum growing in her belly. _His _scum.

Dot got up and brushed off her outfit, then grabbed her purse and put it over her shoulder. Pushing open the door to the stall, she was thankful that everyone in the club was out at the bar getting drinks or on the dance floor and not in the women's bathroom where they could see her. She turned on the faucet and used handfuls of water to wash the acidic taste out of her mouth. Turning off the water, she looked at herself in the mirror for a few long seconds. She used to see her reflection and inwardly smile. She was impossibly adorable as a child, and she grew into a very attractive female toon. But looking in the mirror at that moment, she saw nothing but an unfortunate washed up young woman. Her onyx waves drooped, there were bags under her eyes that were barely covered up by thick blue makeup, and her normally pure white face was now sallow and off color from staying up for days on end and drinking like a fish. The jet black fur that covered her body lost its gloss months ago.

Her neck gently tore her sight away from the mirror. It hurt to look at herself.

The second she exited the bathroom, her carefree smirk was back. No one else could know what had been spawned. She scanned the crowd for her escorts.

"Dot, over here." A high pitched but barely heard melodious voice sounded through the crowd. A gray arm waved to get her attention. Dot made her way over to the direction of the bar to find Sally Swing sipping the remnants of a shot of peach Bacardi. Sally looked at the dance floor with an engaging stare that really lit up her black eyes. Although she wore her exemplified swing outfit that was complete with modest wool skirt and a black V necked shirt, her platinum blonde hair gave a circular frame to her lovely tanned face. Although Sally Swing was never colored, she was no less striking.

And _Lord _could she dance.

"Are you okay? You were in there an awfully long time." Sally said, her soft dark eyes looking concerned, but like the coy woman she was, she tried to hide it with a nonchalant glance back at the crowd that raged behind them.

"I'm fine," Dot replied, waving her hand in dismissal.

"Pounding down those shots already, Sally?" Dot said, gesturing one for herself from the bar keep. A pretty female white striped tiger nodded and began to mix her drink. "And here I thought you got all your talent from practice."

Sally's dark red lips smiled, but said nothing. She was a good companion. Solitary, bitter, and probably holding back quite a lot of anger that threatened to unleash itself upon the society that chewed her up and spit her back out; but still a good companion. In fact, she wasn't that unlike Dot herself. Which is probably why even after all that time, Dot had kept her as a friend of sorts.

"So why aren't you out there cutting a rug, Ms. Swing?" Dot asked.

"Listen to the music." Sally said.

Dot made note of Snoop Dog's Sensual Seduction blaring on the club speakers, and started to laugh.

"I swear to God. I don't have a problem with change; lord knows I've seen enough shit pass by in my years. But I don't think I will ever, ever, _ever_…"

Sally took a big gulp of her drink, finishing it.

"…Appreciate this rap crap."

"You're just mad because you can't crump." Dot said, giving an inane imitation of some weird dance move she saw on a Beyonce Knowles music video.

"Oh. Right. Like I really wanna shake my ass meats more than I already do."

"Well you gotta learn sometime, honey. This is the two thousands; you have to at least know how to get your groove on to Snoop Dog." Dot said in a singsong voice, nudging the blonde's hand. Sally withdrew it, and for a split second looked hard faced.

"You can go ahead Dot. I'll just wait until the Squirrel Nut Zippers come back on."

Dot swallowed the last drop of her cup, and pushed it away from her.

"Suit yourself." And she let herself be carried by the crowd into the center.

Sensual Seduction changed to some other song by Outkast, and she couldn't name it. Her hips just began to move with the beat, both oblivious and completely aware of the dozens of other bodies that were rubbing up against hers as the music seemed to fade into a dull buzz. The harder her mind tried to pull her from this place, the harder Dot tried to dance. In fact she could've sworn once or twice she was close to throwing her back out. There was an embryo inside of her, silently pleading her to cut the crap and get out of there. Away from the smokes, the alcohol, this world that seemed so much more appealing and easy from afar. The world that she, like the uncharacteristic moron she became, plunged into like it was some freaking kiddy pool. The music was almost inaudible now; only the bass vibrated through her heels, up her legs and into her body.

Her body couldn't do it anymore, and soon she was just a motionless girl in the middle of the crowd. People were bumping into her, shoving her from all sides, but she still didn't move.

Until finally, she broke away. She pushed her way back to the bar, where Sally Swing was farther away, a cigarette gracefully placed between her index and middle finger, and trying to fend off yet another guy trying to get into her panties. Dot considered staying, just for her friend's sake, but even thinking that Sally was helpless was no different than petting a rabid wolverine just because it was wearing a pink tutu. Dot grabbed her purse from the bar table and made her way to the exit. She met a lot of toons on these homely streets; and every single one of them, no matter how small or dainty they seemed, were very capable of taking care of themselves.

She wished she could still say the same about herself.

Coming out of the club she got elevator eyes and leers from the bouncers and people still waiting in line to be admitted in the club. She passed through easily each time she went. Her looks helped, but mostly it was because of the string-pulling of her acquaintances Sally Swing, Jessica Rabbit, Harley Quinn, and…

Betty Boop.

But thinking about _her_ made her feel even more like an idiot than she already was.

It was a rough crew to be with, but it ensured her survival.

Such habits were not allowed anymore. When she first found out she was pregnant she figured that if she just played it cool, went out of the limelight of the underground scene for a little while, it would just blow over like all of the other bad things that had been happening. It would just blow over…

Why, _why _did it have to happen? Or more importantly, _how_? She and Bimbo had engaged many times, and never before did it result in a pregnancy. How on earth did it suddenly happen now? The answers weren't certain, but her haze of stupor vaguely wondered if it had to do with the last time they were together, where ittook place with a blatant lack of consent. But she didn't care…she needed somewhere to go. After she left Bimbo she had been couch hopping in abandoned buildings housing addicts, or dissident brothels that remained obscure to the eyes of the public. In her current state, that kind of life would no longer be enough.

Dot walked far, hoping that eventually she would lose her way in the streets, and maybe lose herself in the process. But no; everything looked familiar as ever. Her shoes were cutting into her feet, and she knew she should stop somewhere, but her legs wouldn't listen to her. They just kept walking, even though her muscles screamed from exhaustion. Like being stationary would damage her even more. She finally collapsed under her own weight, and leaned up dazed against a building that had probably been pissed on hundreds of times. Once again she wished she didn't know where she was. Hours passed, and she just sat there. Even when the homeless toons asked her what the hell she was doing, she didn't answer, resulting in them walking away and muttering obscene insults under their breath.

All they had to worry about was their next shipment of hooch. She didn't expect them to understand.

Some lights shown brightly down the road. The car crept closer, and Dot ignored it until a soft but direct voice called out to her.

"Dot, get in."

Dot shielded her eyes from the bright car lights to see who it was that spoke to her. She didn't need to; it was the voice of Sally Swing, driving a really nice car that couldn't possibly be hers. Not budging, she heard Sally sigh heavily, and get out of the driver's seat. She walked over to Dot and reached for her arm. Dot didn't resist, but moaned in weak protest as the swinger held her close and helped her into the passenger seat of the cherry red viper.

The car had the heater on, and it felt nice.

"Look," Sally said, one arm abandoning the wheel to light a Marlboro medium. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you lately, so spill it." Her voice was always soft, but the words stung the girl like acid would.

Dot didn't want her to know. She didn't want anyone to know._ She _didn't want to know. She would have preferred to just go through the nine months thinking that she was just gaining weight or growing a very malignant tumor. The smell of the cigarette reached her nostrils; her lips almost formed the words to request one for herself, but a voice she swore came from the pit of her stomach told her to resist.

"Threatening to throw you out isn't going to work, because you love the streets as much as I do, am I right?" Sally said. "I don't like caring for people, but you're an exception. You've never run out of a club alone before."

Dot still didn't say anything.

"I can't drive all night, hon. Gas costs money that I don't have, and I don't have the energy to go find any either."

"I'm pregnant."

Sally didn't act surprised, but the tension inside the car multiplied by ten fold.

Ms. Swing snubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

"Well that's not good."

Dot almost chuckled. If only she still had her ability to be offhand about everything.

"You know damn well you're not going back to Bimbo with it, right?"

"Well where else _can _I go, Sal?"

"You know for a fact that I don't normally give a shit where you go. But this changes everything."

Yeah, it sure did.

The abuse that she had suffered from her ex boyfriend was enough to make her want to do something that surprisingly enough, most women had trouble doing: leaving. It appeared that she cared enough about herself that she knew she had to get out. Bimbo was an ugly wasteful sack of ink, but even out of his physical clutches, he still somehow managed to reach into her life. Not only did he plant what she thought was a vile seed inside of her, but it tied her to him.

"I might be able to get rid of it." Dot said suddenly.

Sally glanced at her. "That's a bad idea. They don't do abortions for toons last time I checked. You'd have to find an alley." By 'alley', she meant an illegal abortionist, one that treated both humans and toons, and had a death toll of about one in seven from infections. When Dot didn't reply, Sally smirked.

"I knew that would turn you off of _that _idea."

The buildings were getting ritzier the longer they drove. Dot looked at the dashboard and got the impulse to smile as she saw the full tank of gas. They were going to be at this for a while. But she didn't mind; Sally was an old gal, and had a lot of interesting things to say. Maybe she could help.

"Don't you have family, Dot?"

Tension grew by twenty fold.

"Yeah. I do." She said, her voice grim.

"I take it you don't talk to them?"

"No, they'd rather sip their champagne and chat it up with their bullshit on-stage Shakespearean monologues."

Sally laughed quietly. "If they've got the dough, what could it hurt?"

"I haven't spoken to them in three years. Besides, I can assure you that Yakko would rather shoot himself in the face five times than see me again."

"And why's that?"

This time it was Dot who laughed. But it was a stale laugh. "Because I made his life a living hell. Enough said."

"What about your other brother?"

"What about him?"

"God damnit Dot, stop it. I'm going to be straight with you; you can't get rid of it, and there's no way either of you will survive hanging around Bimbo. You gotta find a place to raise a baby, because the streets aren't the place little lady."

Dot yearned to argue, but it was useless. Sally Swing was soft looking, soft spoken, and a complete bitch when she wanted to be.

"I doubt he wants to see me either."

"Well how about instead of being yellow you go and find out whether that's true or not?"

"Because I'd rather drive around aimlessly with you discussing my future, that's why."

Sally sighed. But Dot could hear a smile in there somewhere. "You're impossible. Tell you what. We'll find your brothers, or at least one of them. Then you can do what you want when you're presented with the possibilities."

"I don't see where you're getting this whole idea of me having 'possibilities'. Three years ago I made the biggest fucking mistake of my life and stabbed my brothers in the back. I know where they live, _both _of them. I'm a master of these streets, Sal. I pretty much know where everyone is at every time of day. If I wanted to go see those bastards I could have a long time ago."

Dot stared out of the viper's clear glass window, her reflection carrying an ugly look staring back at her.

"And for the hundredth time, they don't want to see me."

Sally slammed on the brakes and they stopped in the middle of the empty road. Dot stared at her friend with wide black eyes.

"You must think you're _so_ strong, don't you?" Sally said, her beautiful voice dripping in toxicity. "Going back to some dickhead who will probably hug you like a newlywed and then beat you senseless when he finds out you're pregnant. Wake up and smell the coffee, you moron. You don't have a fucking choice but to go to your brothers."

Sally turned to her. "And if they're anything like _you_, then chances are they'll treat you like shit."

She let up on the brakes and they started driving again. Dot's heart hammered against her black chest.

"But I'm betting that's not true. Now tell me where they live."

Dot's breathing refused to go back to normal. Sally's outburst scared her well enough, but now she was practically forcing her to face the two people that she was quite sure didn't want to see her, and vice versa. But they lived in completely different places. Yakko was probably still laying golden eggs in Burbank, being a consultant, producer, _and _director of…well, whatever the hell he could possibly get his hands on. In the old days, back before she ruined everything, the three of them lived together; just like always. After she left, Wakko left too. Yakko wanted to strangle her, there was no doubt about that. The last time she saw him he was so angry at her she almost feared for her life. Wakko felt the sting of her betrayal too, but…strangely, she decided that she would rather face him than the oldest Warner sibling.

Dot mumbled her desired destination inaudibly.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Sally said, craning her neck as if to hear well.

" Huntington Beach." She said.

Sally said nothing. Her foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. For a brief moment Dot wondered again where she acquired this magnificent car. In that thing they would make it there in no time. The platinum blonde said no more. She didn't even smoke. Dot stared ahead down the road, knowing that soon the epic rise of the sun would meet them on the way to the beach.


	2. Chapter 2

Wakko Warner's sleeping patterns had changed over the years. When he was a child he would be able to sleep through a plane crashing into a train that was crashing into a glass factory. Then as he progressed in the ever _so _welcome stage of adolescence, he became an insomniac. He would spend hours upon hours walking around the apartment that he used to share with his siblings, trying to tire out his body and in turn tire out his mind. But he couldn't shut off his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried. For a long time he functioned on only three hours of sleep. During the day he ran around like a mad man, never stopping and almost enjoying the pain of functioning in today's society.

Three hours. Three lousy hours each night of restless tossing and turning and sometimes really, _really _strange dreams. Dreams that he didn't even want to record for fear of remembering them years later.

That was before he moved to Huntington Beach.

The waves eroded the beach that was just a few hundred yards away from his lonesome home. On the first night he spent there, even after he had loads of issues on his mind and figured that after the incident he would be up for four days strait, he ended up falling asleep at ten in the evening. _Ten _in the _evening_, for the first time since he was a kid. And it was only appropriate that he spent it in a sleeping bag on the safe sands of the beach where the rising tide wouldn't touch it; just listening to the waves until his wired eyes closed.

That described every night since he started living on Huntington Beach.

But the fates smiled upon him, and made this particular night an exception.

Wakko laid in his king sized bed with only a sheet covering his black body, face up and staring at the midnight blue ceiling. The nerves behind his eyeballs throbbed, just like they did when he didn't used to sleep. He didn't understand; why wasn't the ocean letting him rest tonight? It was whispering disheartening things into his ears, telling him to be alert for something that was coming his way. His brain could be very instinctual when it came to his raw senses. Sometimes he couldn't really explain the way his bizarre mind worked, not even to himself. But part of the reason why he moved out here was to both escape and come to terms with what had happened in his life so far.

The whispers in his ear told him that something he hadn't quite put to rest was coming for him.

With positive or negative intentions, he didn't know.

Fear wasn't an apt way to describe this intuition. Wakko was…well, an oddity. He didn't find a lot of things gross or scary like a lot of other people would. In a way he was almost jaded; something that he shared with his older brother. You could leave a dead animal on Yakko's doorstep and all he would do is raise and eyebrow and complain about the smell. Sadly, Wakko developed the same kind of jaded disposition.

Hm. But at least he wasn't such an asshole about it.

Not that there was anything _really _wrong about his brother's caustic way of dealing with things. But Wakko was secretly thankful that he didn't always have to announce the irony in life with a bite in his voice. C'mon…a bite to _his _voice? It was meant for glib sparseness, not the classy mordancy that Yakko seemed to let effortlessly flow out of that big mouth of his.

Wakko's eyebrows pinched together slightly. He had been thinking about his siblings a lot lately. Even Dot, who in the past year or so, hardly occupied his mind at all. Whether or not that was a good thing, it was probably because he did an exceptional job at forcing the sickening worry about what could've happened to her after she left out of the confines of his skull.

But the trains of thought consisting of them never kept him up this late before.

The sound of an engine roared outside, snapping his attention that lingered in that dazed realm of being half awake and trying to lose consciousness back to reality. Now that he was no longer an unfocused blob lying in his bed trying to rest, he could even see a pair of brights flashing into his bedroom window. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and squinted his eyes to find his pair of flannel bottoms. He slid them over his long black legs and yanked his tail out of the cut-out hole. Who in the hellwas in his driveway at this time? Off and on he would have people who claimed to be his fans suddenly turn up and want an autograph, in which he would either smile casually and give them what they wanted (except quotes. He _hated _doing quotes), or hole himself up in the art studio part of the house until they just assumed that no one was home and left on their own accord. Oh well…guess he would have to greet them.

_They better not expect me to be some charming fella…its three in the morning for Fawkes' sake. _

Leaving his red bandanna on his night stand, he navigated through his cluttered room and wished that he hadn't moved different piles of clothes to a different configuration the previous evening; for now, he didn't directly know the way to his bedroom door. They would probably be downcast at the fact that he wouldn't be donning anything red on his head tonight.

Well they could just hush up and deal.

Suddenly he felt afraid. Or something resembling afraid. He didn't fear strangers, and he was more than capable of defending himself if need be. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it. The house was not a manor, but it was rather large and his feet softly padded against the oak floors as he made his way to the front door. Outside car doors slammed, and someone was getting out. Wakko was ten feet away from the door, and he stood still, listening to whoever it was who was walking up the door. If they really meant to rob him, they probably would have been a lot more subtle in their arrival. He took this noise-filled onset as a good sign.

Whoever they were, they pounded on the door like the zombies did in the movie _The Fog_. Well that was a huge tip off that they knew what they were doing, and that normal people who slept at this hour could usually be awakened by a foreboding thrash on the door.

Tensing his muscles just in case this would get ugly, Wakko walked up and opened the door. The car was still running. But why he noticed this first was just his ridiculously observant mind at work; most of his attention was focused on the figure that stood on his doorstep, looking like a shadowy wraith who didn't want to show their face. It looked like a girl though.

"Can I help you?" Wakko said immediately, hoping to whatever cosmic forces controlled everything out there that he could get this over with and back to bed.

Where he could futilely try and sleep.

They didn't speak right away, but they looked up at him, and he knew for sure that they were female. Even in the dark, she looked incredibly familiar. Before she divulged who she was, his stomach did a somersault and his heart fluttered painfully against his ribcage.

"What, you don't even recognize familiar DNA?"

A sharp voice, but deceivingly soft at the same time.

Dear _Lord…_

What else could have described his face but shaken? He stared at this young woman in her early twenties, able to tell that she was beautiful even in the dark, but also completely exhausted.

"Dot, what're you doing here?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"It's a long story." Was all she said.

"Who brought you?" He asked. His unintentionally kept his voice quiet, as if she would run away again if he talked to her too loud. A misconception to such a hard edged character like his sister, but who knew; maybe he didn't even know who she was anymore.

"Sally Swing." Dot said, and she waved at the platinum blonde toon behind the wheel. 'Sally Swing' nodded slightly, lit a cigarette, and backed out of the driveway. She disappeared shortly after.

"So are you gonna invite me in or-"

Her voice was muffled by her brother's arms throwing themselves around her neck. He knew she didn't like to be cuddled by him like this; she never did. That was Yakko's job. But right now he just couldn't contain himself. Everything that ever happened between them, whether it was serious concerns that threatened to break apart the positive things that held their relationship together or simple sibling rivalry just…crumbled. It didn't matter, not one bit. He was just happy to see his sister alive in one piece.

Dot's arms stayed at her side, but her head seemed to dip onto his shoulder for a brief moment as he hugged her. They stayed like that for about ten seconds before a chilly oceanic breeze blew through their obsidian fur.

"It's freaking cold out here." Dot said frankly, pulling herself away and walking past him inside. It was still dark in the house, cold too.

"Mind turning on a light?" She said, standing where Wakko was right before he opened the door to meet her. He closed the door, blocking the wind, and flicked on a light switch.

The room lit up and he was able to take an ample look at her. With her back faced to him he could see a storm of wavy black hair that went down to the top of her back; something that intrigued him because when they lived together she always insisted on keeping it short and pixie-like. Black skirt, white fishnets…the last time he saw her he was _definitely _not used to seeing her in this type of attire.

She turned to look at him, and his breath snagged something on the way out.

A face roughly identical to his looked back at him, pretty but tired. Her stark white face was tainted with rouge, her lips were painted a shimmering but fading pink, and a smoky color made her black eyes look even more like voids. She wasn't wearing gloves, and her hands were black and slender as the night sky. They were both obnoxious as children, and insufferable when they had their tiffs that sometimes resulted in missing patches of fur and bruised faces. As her older brother he didn't constantly remark on how admittedly adorable she was, but even he had to state the obvious. But despite her cuteness as a girl, he had no idea she would look like this as a woman.

The only thing that was not endearing about her was her eyes. The black pools challenged him, dared him to go any further than their glassy front. But behind the polished barrier her soul swam in pain.

"You have a nice place here." She said simply.

"What're you doing here?" He repeated from earlier.

"Do you really want to know all of it tonight?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Wakko thought about it. Whatever was causing those daunting ripples in what used to be those sparkling mischievous eyes, it was big. And although he was curious as to why she decided to just stroll in after so long, he wasn't sure if he should try to stomach it in a single night.

"I guess not." He admitted.

"So let's get some sleep then. Where's my bed?"

The living room had no couch, just a black grand piano, and unless she was singing jazz he knew that she wouldn't want to sleep on that thing for the night. The dining room was unused and vacant of furniture. The art studio didn't have anything except for numerous cans of paint and eight by eight feet canvases that he hadn't finished yet. He had never really thought about it before, but there was barely anything in his house at all save for his bedroom.

"You want mine?" He asked quietly, gesturing her to follow him.

"Oh sir Warner, you shouldn't have."

He smirked at that. They stood in the doorway of his room and he turned on the light. There were clothes everywhere on the floor, and most of them he couldn't even remember wearing recently. The fibers were probably rotting away, but he didn't discard them.

"There, have it."

Dot crossed the room through the thin path cleared out of the dirty clothes and sat down on his mattress, bouncing up and down on it once or twice. "This thing's pretty comfy."

Wakko smiled slightly, and just shrugged.

"Wait, where are _you _gonna sleep?" She asked, acting like the idea just popped into her head.

Good question. Wakko thought back to his moldy clothes and grinned.

"I'll just sleep in my sea of laundry, if that's okay with you."

"Wow, that's rather disgusting. But I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised."

"No, you shouldn't. Now go to sleep. You look like Susan Sarandon."

Dot chuckled sardonically. "Sure. Goodnight asshole."

"Night bitch." Now _this _was more like it. Wakko turned off the light and almost dove into a pile of clothes, getting himself resituated as he heard Dot slip out of her heels and leather jacket. He pulled several unidentifiable articles of clothing over himself like a blanket and rolled over on his side, only to stare at the blank darkness of one of his walls. He loved his sister. He was glad she was back. He was glad that she still had the will to call him profane insults when he shamelessly prodded fun at her appearance. Nostalgic moments; only little bursts of sugar in a crappy cup of plain black coffee. Wakko was almost afraid of tomorrow coming, afraid of hearing his sister's tale. He thought back to when she ran away, taking a huge chunk of their money with her. It was time to face those days again; but whether to do it with the mind or the fist was the question. Or maybe even both.

The ocean's hectic whispers calmed down. But he still couldn't sleep.

* * *

Anyone else would have probably been annoyed to have the sun peeking through their eyelids and soon after allow them to discover that they had been sleeping with a pair of dirty underwear on their head. But when the rays showed through the cracks in his drapes, Wakko's first reflection was how the hell did he even get to sleep? He must have drifted off into that 'middle realm' that he was getting closer to earlier that morning before Dot had shown up. Oh well. As he threw his blanket of dirty clothes off him, his attention on his sleeping patterns was rapidly changed to the whereabouts of his sister when he saw that his bed was empty. This time not forgetting to grab his red bandanna and tie it securely on his head, he walked swiftly out of his room and began searching the house.

"Dot? You around?" He called softly. No answer.

Where was she?

…Did she leave again?

He walked into the kitchen where the windows had a clear view of the ocean. Out on the beach, he saw the sleek black woman that was his sister standing with her feet in the shallow waves. Wakko breathed a sigh of relief, and went out the side doors to join her.

A cool wind from last night was still blowing, but mixed with the sun the beach felt as welcoming as it did the first night he moved there. Dot heard him approach, and turned to look at him. He smiled sheepishly.

"Morning." He said.

"Yeah, same to you." She said, and looked back at the sea again.

Wakko let the waves wash up against his feet like she was doing. He liked the water; it was lukewarm, and unpredictable. You could be planning on staying dry for the entire day and throw that aspiration to the wind when you feel the waves splash against you.

"So are you going to tell me why you vanish for three years and then turn up like nothing ever happened?" He asked, his curiosity and apprehension of what she might tell him causing unneeded asperity in his voice.

Dot frowned. "I'm pregnant."

"You mean…like, with a baby?"

Remember, he wasn't the oral virtuoso like his brother.

But Dot didn't yell at him, instead she started to laugh. "Yeah, with a baby, Wakko. Don't worry, I didn't go into space for three years and then come back harboring an alien creature in my belly."

He couldn't help but glance at her stomach, still flat as can be. Except for that swelling-_ohhhhh…_

"I didn't know toons could get pregnant." He said.

"Well they can. And they do; you just don't hear of it as much."

"So…who's the father?" Wakko asked, perhaps too appreciatively. The thought of a niece or nephew was alluring.

"God damnit, Wakko. You're treating this like its some fucking great news." Dot said sharply, and she turned to look at him. "Well, newsflash, it isn't."

"Okay then." He said. "So you're saying that's why you came back."

Dot nodded.

"Were you living out on the streets this whole time?"

"More or less." Dot said, looking down at the sand.

Wakko sighed in slight frustration. There was something missing, and he really wished she would start talking because mind reading wasn't his forte.

"I was with Bimbo. He took me in and gave me a place to stay for a few years."

_Bimbo?_

Ohhh….Bimbo.

The black and white dog from _Betty Boop_. Well that was rich. Wakko felt his hands start to clench out of irritation. That dog wasn't to be messed with at all whatsoever. Not that the dumbass, respectively so on and off stage, was a threat. It was the connections the moron had that were a force to be reckoned with if you ever got into trouble with them.

"You stayed with _Bimbo_?" Wakko asked, almost accusingly.

"Yeah, I did."

Wakko's abstract mind put the dots slowly together. Oh _gross_.

"So you're saying that _he's _the father?"

Dot wouldn't meet his eyes again. Proof.

"What the hell were you thinking? He's bad news, Dot! He could've pimped you out if he had wanted! Do you know the kind of people he knows?" He couldn't stop. He just couldn't. " And _how _on _earth _could you let yourself-"

"Now you can just stop _right _there, asshole." Dot said, trying to size him up, physically failing, but the effect she wanted was achieved.

"I want to make something very clear, Wakko. I didn't _let _myself do anything."

The pain started to flicker in her eyes again, just like last night.

"It wasn't my choice."

That sent a bucket of ice through every vein in his body. Her words were the dripping venom that was reality, but she said them with an airiness that made him want to shake the hurt out of her. Make her cry in lament of her situation, like he felt he was about to. So _that _was why she was able to get pregnant. Both redundancy and unexpectancy were normally a toon's downfall.

"Plus Bimbo was doing blow every chance he got, and he became unbearable to be around, so I bummed around with Sally Swing for a while-"

This couldn't be happening.

"-And then I started getting sick just about every morning. I thought I had the flu or something but when it started going on for about two weeks I knew something was up-"

This was a nightmare.

"-So I took a test and…what do you know, I was pregnant."

What the hell was wrong with her? She should be crying in anguish in the sand. 'Should' being the key word. Wakko knew how strong and barricaded his sister could be when it came to her personal life…but this was just too much.

_Stop. Stop being so casual about it. _

His plummeting mindset must have shown on his face, because Dot looked at him and frowned.

"Look, don't be like that. I know that this sucks, first hand in fact. But I don't have the option of being broken down about it. I can't get rid of it, and I can't go back to that moron."

The system didn't abort natural unborn toons. To even consider the possibility of doing it illegally was a bad idea as well.

"Why didn't you go to Yakko?" He asked suddenly.

The question made her go aloof.

"Because he would…turn me away."

"Like hell he would." Wakko replied. "What makes you think he wouldn't act like me?"

"Don't you remember how he is, Wakko? He'll probably go into some 'I knew you'd come crawling back' shpeel, and then when he finds out I'm knocked up he'll treat me like some child who accidentally played with a chainsaw."

Christ. Did she really believe that he would act like that? Yakko had always been…egotistical in many ways. And he would bet all of his money on his older brother still being very sore at what she did to them three years ago. He couldn't blame him. Wakko remembered coming home that day to find his older brother's angry tears pouring down his face as he gripped a scribbled note tightly in his gloved fist. After Yakko spat out what happened, Wakko felt no different. Betrayal was the sensation. And it pierced holes in his mind that even now he didn't think would mend.

However, when his sister came to him last night, standoffish as always and asking for help, refusing to do so didn't even occur to him.

Then again, what did he know?

Dot and Yakko's relationship was something that even he sometimes didn't understand. Didn't understand, but thought it was something grand. They weren't like him and Dot, who fought each other with their fists. They used their words, quite masterfully at that, to get what they wanted. He always believed that they truly understood each other, and had something that went beyond the bond of brother and sister, and that was friendship.

Wakko felt that Yakko should have been the one she went to. He was more responsible, more focused, more skillful at following the twisting mind boggling mazes of industrialized society. He had brains, money…

He probably missed Dot even more than Wakko did. In that sense, he wanted to call up his brother and tell him that she was with him, just to give him some kind of solace; even if that solace was in anger.

"He'd want to see you. I know that for sure."

"Well despite what you think he wants, I like my jugular in one piece." Dot replied snappishly. "If you call him, I'm out of here in a flash."

Wakko shook his head. He wasn't going to call him anyway, so the threat was useless. "I won't. You're an adult; you're free to come and go as you please."

He paused. "Just make sure when you go you come back eventually."

Dot's lips hinted a smile. The sun was rising steadily and it was getting warmer by the second. Wakko swallowed a lump of rising anger as he imagined about that vile creature's hands on his sister's body, and put his arm around her shoulder. She made no objection, but he felt her tense up.

"I don't want to lose you again." He said before he could stop himself. It was already overly sentimental, something that he knew Dot didn't really like, but he couldn't help it. It was the truth.

Dot looked at him and smirked. "Christ, this is like the end of Deep Impact." And she shook herself out of his grasp.

He smiled at his sister, who began to dig her toes into the wet sand and watch the crabs scurry out from underneath. It was a simple innocent thing action that reminded him that his sister could still be a carefree little girl, even if the cruelty of the world had tried to make her otherwise.

"Let's go for a walk. I had no idea you had such a nice shindig out there otherwise I probably would've come sooner. Show me around, will ya?"

Wakko shrugged. "Sure."

They walked along the empty beach, the both of them thankful that they were the only ones for miles. They talked about inane things like if an asteroid the size of Texas were to hit the Pacific they were screwed beyond belief, and why Christopher Walken kept getting work when he played the same deranged character in every one of his films. Eventually, he asked:

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I know everything about you guys. Just because I ran away doesn't mean I started living under a rock. And besides, you're the Warner brothers; _everyone _knows who you are."

Wakko nodded slowly, not very much liking the idea of a bunch of street bums knowing who he was and where he lived. So she knew where Yakko was, but she came to him instead. Oh my, what was this feeling; pride?

Dot ran ahead of him, kicking up sparkling drops of water from the tiny waves and getting flecks of sand in her hair. He lagged behind, but only so he could watch as she enjoyed her freedom and partial innocence for a little while longer. Once or twice he could have sworn he heard her laugh. Not chortle, or snicker, or morbidly chuckle, but actually laugh. And it was nice.

On one side of his brain he watched his sister nearly frolic on the beach, while on the other, he was imagining himself beating the shit out of that fucking dog who thought it would be fun to force himself onto his sister. Every time he thought about it he felt like punching something and throwing up at the same time. He wasn't a guy who was bent on revenge; it was much easier for him to let things slide and consent to the slow healing of time to take care of things. But this…

It was just sordid. Repellent. Hell, there wasn't even a word to describe what Bimbo had done to her.

When that thing was born, he was going to make sure it was nothing like him. Boy or girl, he was going to make sure that it lived a life not even knowing who their father was.

Wakko's blithe face turned troubled, and he inwardly said something that he never remembered saying with such a passion.

_That bastard's going to pay. _

"What are you, a zombie? C'mon, keep up with me." Dot called from about fifty yards ahead.

He gave her gloved thumbs up, and sped up his pace.


	3. Chapter 3

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but "Persepolis" is a good movie. I strongly suggest it.

* * *

Once the television flipped on, he could finally flip his overactive brain and his racing thoughts off. The images went by, eight hundred or more by the second, and he wouldn't be able to remember a single one of them. The commercials , the voices that repeated their products constantly to get it in your head that you needed whatever they were selling…it all made for great TV. Great, mind rotting TV. Yakko could remember when television wasn't a blatant insult to what was left of humanity's intelligence. Often it acted as an escape from reality, primarily. But who said turning off your mind once in a while should be any less entertaining? If you weren't entertained, then there's no sense in sitting down on your ass and watching a half hour of whatever you felt like. 

At the rate it was going, television was making people realize that the actualities of life were far more compelling than the crap they were putting on air these days. Yakko was a child star, and liked it to the extent that it helped him feed his family and get some kind of positive recognition. As he grew up and the nineties steadily faded away, as well as the quality of animated material that people were unfortunately being subjected to, he wanted to do something about it. At least attempt to keep things fresh so people wouldn't…

God, he just didn't know anymore.

What in the world was he doing anyway?

He enjoyed being an art director. Out of all the things that he was able to do in various animation studios, he liked being an art director the best. Since they wouldn't allow a toon to physically create another toon (a rule that was severely upheld; but just because he worked for artists didn't mean he agreed with them on everything), he was a prime supervisor, giving directions on both how to draw the proportions of a character and how to give them the dynamics of motion. It was as near as he could get to a pencil and paper.

Oh well…he wasn't a very good artist anyways. Anything he would create would probably wind up missing their arms and a good deal of their face. That's something he sure as hell wouldn't want to be responsible for.

Then again, his job was making him grind his teeth like a saw mill. These days everyone was so focused on not being offensive, or just not focusing on anything at all. Those dumbasses thought that insane screaming and umpteen random sayings was enough to pass off a cartoon show. To think, he used to love it so much, and now he wanted to hit numerous creators over the head for having such…such…

Utterly _hideous _ideas.

The news was on, and Yakko just sat on his midnight blue leather couch and stared at it with a face as blank as an empty sheet of paper. In all honesty he didn't care about who died or who got robbed or what shampoo and conditioner was increasing the risk of psoriasis; he just stared, holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, ignoring the ashes falling and crumbling into the white shag carpet. This was what it had been like each day after he came home from work for the last eight months or so. What triggered the change from completely motivated to simply being brain dead, he hadn't even sought out an answer. He was just too lazy. Whenever things just got too quiet he would just turn on the television and leave it on until he left for the studio the next morning.

The noise.

Perhaps it was the noise that he missed. Yakko could remember his apartment being filled with squabbles, arguments, humorous rows, screaming and nuclear explosions due to severe tempers, and philosophical conversations that would go on for hours.

Take away all of that…and you had him sitting in front of the television with the lights out, wasting his life away.

After Dot had left, Wakko had left too. Apparently living in the same house that their sister once lived in was too much for him, and he went out to find his own place where he could deal with it alone. It seemed like such a selfish decision. Like he pussied out on something. Didn't the red capped boy know that after losing their sister he couldn't bear to lose him too? That he was tired of being the shoulder for everyone to cry on and he finally needed one for himself?

No…of course not.

But what could really be done? He would rather yank out several of his teeth and give them to Cloris Leachman on her birthday for use in the near future than ask them to come back. He was sure they would laugh if he even suggested that he missed them.

Or maybe he was just thinking too much.

Yeah, that was probably it. Back to the tube.

The hand with the beer connected with his mouth, and he narrowed his eyes in irritation as he found that he had finished it off. It wasn't like him to get hammered every evening, but it was getting more and more of a habit to come home to an ice cold Coors Lite in the fridge. Yakko sighed, crushed the beer can on his head (what was once a comedic deed was now just another listless routine), took one last long drag off of his cigarette, and crushed it in the jade ashtray. A _jade _ashtray. Only a rich shut-yer-mouth would own a jade ashtray, and now he was 'proud' to say that he had joined the collective of affluent jerk-offs who spent money on things that they didn't need. It was all just a mechanism; one to foolishly try to fill the void that his siblings left. He could almost understand why Wakko left. He was thinking about moving out anyway, in search of explicable independence. But after Dot had so ceremoniously disappeared with just a scribbled goodbye in her wake, his own problems seemed so much more amplified. So he pushed himself out on his own with the desire to escape the abandonment he felt.

Maybe he was the pussy; reluctant as hell to loosen the ties between his brother and sister that he once thought were unbreakable.

…………………………

_**Backtrack three years**_

That whore.

That fucking, snide, insufferable, unbearable…

Beautiful baby sister.

And she was gone. He held her note in his trembling hand that he found that morning. The note was made out of a fresh sheet of lineless paper, and it smelled like glue.

_Guys._

_I'm not the perfect sister. I'm not even that great of a person. The both of you helped me realize that, and now I'm out of your hair. I took some money, but I'm sure you'll be able to replace it within a few months, what with Yakko's high paying jobs he's always so good at getting. I miss the screen, it was all I ever really had. I wish I could be more like you, all able to let go of the past and shit. Guess I wasn't drawn with the same talents. Regardless of how you may feel about me right now, I love you guys. _

_Dot_

Lies, all lies. They made him sick.

Yakko must have read each of those horrid lines at least a million times, and it still didn't go through his head all the way. It wasn't until later that he would have to get used to walking down the hallway past a girly room that was missing its owner, or sitting in silence at the table as grapefruit juice went easily down his throat without being interrupted by some acid joke made by his sister.

He shouldn't have strangled her. Not literally of course (not only was physical violence not in the cards when it came to Dot; words were the only weapons), but perhaps he shouldn't have gotten on her case for coming home at midnight. Or yelled at her for rearranging his DVD/CD rack. Or…

Tell her that she was stupid for wanting to be just a little more independent. It wasn't until then that he remembered all of the times that he indirectly called her inefficient.

Though he was angry, he also felt like the biggest douche bag in the entire world. And there was also that appalling sentiment that somehow, amidst all of this crap, it was all meant to be.

Damn, he hated when he delved into things. It was time to for him to nurse his marred self.

It was at least ten minutes before he noticed Wakko standing in the hallway entrance, looking as his brother as he groaned like he was dying from the inside out.

"W-w…what…" Wakko couldn't even seem to form the words to properly ask the question.

_Yeesh, I must really look psychotic right now._

Yakko said nothing, just covered his face with one hand and held out the note with his free hand. He felt his younger brother take it and unfold it.

"What the hell?" He said. Whispered rather. "Why-"

"Fuck if I know, Wakko." He snapped.

He felt haughty. Arrogantly haughty. Like he just wanted to shed all of his cares and treat everything like shit. Maybe then he wouldn't get hurt like this.

"Fuck if I _care_." Yakko said, brusquely rooting through the crevices of his high collar white shirt and loosened tie trying to find a pack of cloves and a lighter.

"…How can you say something like that?" Wakko said softly.

Yakko looked at his brother, his glare not meant for him at all, but he gave it to him anyway. "Because if she wants to go out there and see the world so badly, I'm not gonna stop her." He gave a single grim laugh. "Like she can even survive out there…seriously, this has got to be the dumbest thing she's ever pulled. Even after _everything_I've sacrificed for her, _everything _I've done, she thinks she can-"

"Shut _up._"

The oldest Warner sibling looked at his red crowned brother, and saw a pair of angrily disappointed eyes staring back at him.

"Just shut up, will you? You probably don't even know the half of it." And he started to leave, retreating to his room where he would probably stay unless he needed to gnaw on another one of the kitchen plates to drown out his thoughts. He let their sister's note drop to the floor.

"What, and you do? Huh?!" Yakko yelled after his brother.

Wakko's bedroom door slammed. After that the apartment was quiet, and the ringing silence really seemed to poke fun at the Warners' misfortune. Yakko went over and picked up the note, looking at the elegantly written text but not letting his mind read it again.

What would he be without his jittery larynx and blaring mouth?

_Probably a lot happier, that's what._

…………………………

_**Coming Back…**_

When you actually have to fight to prevent a show from being made in flash or CGI, something is definitely wrong. When the writers and storyboard artists want to skive off and take a four hour coffee break four times a week instead of getting work done, then something is definitely wrong. Yakko Warner was seriously beginning to question the work ethic of his crew on _Elsa_. The creator was a newbie, filled with ideas and plans; motivational traits that Yakko appreciated very much in this day in age. But like other studios across the country, they had been suffering with major budget cuts, harassment from network censors, and to add to the problems trying to break through from the outside, there were setbacks behind the scenes as well.

Lately, by the end of each day, Yakko wanted to tear off his ears and stuff them down his own throat.

This was a sickening fact when in the beginning he felt like he was having another shot at life.

When the idea of the show _Elsa _was bought, Yakko was asked to do...something,_ anything _on the show. It was kind of scary how much esteem the Warner studios and those who branched off of it still held him in. But who was he to argue? He liked being around the very creations of cartoon characters; he found it fascinating, but at the same time he treated it like brain surgery. He was tough when it came to the character designers and the storyboard artists. They had to make sure that the character was perfectly on model before they put it in action. Otherwise…well…

Yakko kicked their asses out.

Having dealt with many arrogant bastards in his line of work, he knew that those who didn't know how to draw just shouldn't be there. And he merely gave them a push in the right direction: which was away from the studio. Far, _far_ away from the studio, where they would no longer be 'graced' with their contributions.

But digression aside, today was just another day in the animation business.

He walked into his building, acknowledging the security guard on his way in. His first stop today was a quick and informal conference concerning _Elsa_'s creator Simone Hartley. They got along surprisingly well, despite the fact that there was a tension between not only them, but the entire studio around the fact that he was one of the only toons in the positions that he was in the industry. On most days he held that spot like a king's throne. Other times, it made him feel isolated. He had nothing against humans, and he was fairly sure that his co-workers didn't have anything against him either.

But the Ruby Bridges atmosphere became noticeable at times.

_No…have to feel honored._

The hallways were crowded with cubicles, but they didn't hold people dumbly clicking away on their keyboards or having mind numbing conversations on their telephones. They were drawing away, arguing away, talking away…

One pleasant thing about his job at Ersatz Studios; almost everyone busied themselves with something.

Yakko walked past Julie Hashiguchi's desk, and she called after him.

"And just how the hell do you manage to show up late every single day and still be able to stroll right in like you're the king?"

Yakko looked back and smirked at the lone female storyboard artist; never one to take even a lunch break during work.

"Beats me. Just how in the hell do you manage to draw Elsa off-model every single time you pick up a pencil?"

"Because you allow me to. You're the art director, so come over and do some directing on my art!"

"If I had the time I would. I have a meeting with Simone."

Julie shook her head and mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that, Julie?"

"I said I'll _bet_ you have a meeting with Simone. I'll bet the both of you enjoy them a lot too, huh?"

Yakko raised an eyebrow. Then it dawned on him.

"You're kind of gross, you know that, right?" He chuckled.

"I just go with what you give me."

"No no no, you didn't get that from me. Now keep your sick thoughts to yourself; I gotta go. And when I get back I'll help you adjust that poor excuse for a drawing."

If she said something back, he didn't hear, because he was already approaching the elevator. He liked Julie, but being one of the only SB artists to take her work as seriously as possible made her a little waspish at times. Which was okay with Yakko; the last thing he wanted was a crew who were as cuddly as a basket of baby rabbits.

That comment about Simone bugged him though. A brief chill ruffled up his fur as he thought about the possibility that someone knew what went on between the art director and creator, but it wasn't probable. They had agreed in a sense, to keep what happened relating their past relationship under wraps. But all that happened years ago, and it just wasn't right to keep bringing it up, so Yakko made his heart and mind forget. Or at least he tried to.

When one pictures a creator of a television show, they think they must have a huge office cluttered with knick knacks that they bought with their 'hard earned' cash. Simone's office was a little dingy haven with gray blank walls that was used for anything from writing plotlines to playing World of Warcraft. That's why he liked Simone; believe it or not, many creative people didn't have a very large attention span, and she was one of them. She could be comprehending everything you say one moment and then when you finished, she would ask if you knew whether praying mantises could think or not.

The one thing she did have on the wall was a framed vintage full-body drawing of Elsa that Simone had done at least eight years ago. Simone had an artsy mind with which she stylized everything she could. _Elsa _had no language whatsoever, and even very few moments of violence; but it still intimidated the hell out of network supervisors. _Elsa _was clever, beautiful, funny, and stuck in a world where she was normally unable to use any of those gifts. Yakko would almost go as far as to compare _Elsa_'s situation to _Animaniacs_; although one show's cartoon violence was almost painfully abysmal to the other's.

So many censors, so many angry parents, so many pissed off people too fixated on whether or not something is offensive. These people were the culprits who made his job the most difficult.

Scratch that…

People in general made his _life _difficult.

Simone's office door was open a crack. Yakko opened it and knocked softly on the side, drawing the attention of a dark skinned woman with two nappy braids hanging beside her cheeks scribbling something down into a six by eight inch sketchbook. She sat up, her round glasses nearly sliding off of her button nose like she had been startled or something. He swore to God, it was like she was on crack sometimes.

"You rang, my mistress?" Yakko said in a spooky Dracula voice.

"Save the theatrics, Warner."

"But you love the theatrics deep down in your heart, don't ya Simmie?"

"Ha. Don't ever call me that again. Take a seat."

Yakko smirked, but Simone was more on edge than usual. On any other day he would have found her sitting in front of the television that she asked to be put into her office for 'demonstrations', when really it was for playing fighting and rpg games. Hey, what the supervisors didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Not that she was lazy either; she was just eccentric. And doing all those hobbies, however weird and just plain_ nerdy _they were, probably helped her get those strange little ideas that she poured out of her head.

Simone took off her thin framed glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose.

_This can't be good._

"They're trying to pull the show."

"When was that ever news to me?"

"Well they're not shittin' us this time. The network supervisors came by today, and they told me that if I don't clean up the show, they're pulling it next month, and then we're all out of work." She said, looking dismal. And it was not a becoming look for her.

"And just what do they mean by 'cleaning up the show'? There's no language, no violence, no sex…what more can they ask for?"

"Apparently it's too philosophical. Touches on too many subjects that the public just wants to sweep under the rug and pretend don't exist."

"That does seem to be the theme, doesn't it?" Yakko sighed. His gloved finger scratched something invisible on the conference table.

They were quiet for a little while. He couldn't remember the last time he shared such a contemplative silence with anyone. Even though this _was _Simone he was talking about, he was never much for silence. Yet there they were, doing nothing but listen to the obsolete clock that was ten minutes ahead tick away.

"Maybe I should just…" Simone started quietly, but then trailed off, staring at the closed blinds of the lonely window.

Yakko frowned. "Just what, exactly."

She didn't answer right away.

"Maybe I should just…stop. I'm starting to think that I'm not cut out for this kind of thing."

"You're one of the most successful women in the animation industry, and you say you're not cut out for it? Looks like someone's finally showing some modesty." He quipped. It was hard for him to keep the unnecessary humor out of solemn conversations; they put him on edge.

"I'm being serious here." She said, scratching her black head roughly. "Just…the harassment and the whining about everything never being right for anything. It wears on my nerves and I'm just tired of feeling like my ideas are stupid and should just stay put in my head."

Yakko gave her a hard look. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with Simone D. Hartley?"

She didn't say anything. Just laid her forehead in the palm of her hand.

"Look," He said, "I know you better than most people, and it's a fact of nature that your ideas _aren't _stupid."

Simone looked at him, and for the first time in…well, a long time, it made his heart flutter. Mostly because he was used to her face holding some insane going on maniacal grin. Now, she just looked worried. And worn. Like the troubles of the world finally got to her. Which was a damn shame; aside from the past condition of his family, she was the most untroubled person he had ever known.

"Maybe _Elsa _will get canceled, and maybe we'll all lose our jobs, and maybe we'll just be another short-lived epitome of a group of creative people trying to rise out of the ashes of our floundering entertainment business."

He could see it in her eyes that she was imagining all of that happening; her dark eyes were unnervingly grim. They weren't supposed to look like that. Yakko loosened the tie around his neck a little bit.

"But you can just try again. Whether you make something else, or try a whole different career all together."

Yakko had a sudden urge to smoke. There was an edge in this conversation that he didn't like.

"Or you can even try and bring her back after being canceled. Hell, it worked for Family Guy."

"Yes, but mindless drooling morons aren't exactly the audience we're aiming for, is it?" She said with a smile.

A smile. Good.

"Point taken."

"So yeah. What d'you think about this?" Simone said, holding up her sketchbook in his direction.

"Oh. Why that's such a lovely tentacle rape drawing." He said with mock politeness.

"I know, right? It took me forever to shade the part where it's splitting open her ass."

The both broke down on the table laughing.

God that lady was insane.

But he liked her. Heaven help him, he liked her.

After she threatened to show him her other illustrative drawings, he left in a hurry. He was glad that she had reverted back to her old self, but news of the network trying to pull the show irked him. He was beyond tired of people trying to pull this shit on good entertainment. They were always trying to seek the innovative people out, coercing them to do great things with their talents, to try to change the world or something. But then when they did, they were just knocked back to square one. And after they were knocked down the first time, they were usually too heart broken to try again, so they just stayed there in their square of self pity.

Simone was a cunning woman. A strong and crafty woman, who could draw the perfect cartoon without him even telling her what to do. The industry needed someone like her. And they were unknowingly shooting themselves in the foot by even considering dropping her.

Ugh…screw them.

He eventually left Simone's office and went back to work, getting back to Julie on that off-model drawing of Elsa. Only time could tell the fate of their careers, he supposed.

…………………………

Yakko didn't know if he was failing or succeeding at anything. It used to be so clear cut; bring home the bacon, and the sibs could eat. Come back with a smile or something funny to share, and the sibs could laugh. Spend the majority of his time on making everything as comfortable as possible, and the sibs could live properly. Something inside of him wanted to give them anything and everything, but his act of covering up that intuition made him into some kind of tyrant. He would get angry at stupid things like messes and miscommunication; which even amidst his outbursts of annoyance he knew wasn't fair.

He no longer questioned what went wrong, he most certainly knew what he did wrong.

But how to make them come back, or even be brave enough to search around to see if they're okay…

It wasn't that hard. With today's technology it wouldn't be difficult to find either of them. And he already had a good idea of where Wakko resided; he wasn't hiding from his older brother, he just needed to get away and think about some things.

But Dot…

She couldn't have gotten far, but then again it was unwise to underestimate her. And he was quite certain she didn't want him looking for her. And in the beginning, he didn't want to either.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been almost a month, and once she had her fill of long tedious walks on the beach and almost getting swept out to sea by undertows on a regular basis, Dot made Wakko hook up a television for her, and he even got out a dusty unused DVD player. He told her that he didn't watch television anymore, that his brain cells were busy making up for lost time, but she insisted that he hook it up. She was able to adjust the rabbit ears so that she could feed of the free reception floating around the beaches of California. It wasn't much; some reruns of_ Sesame Street_, _South Park_ on UPN, and the news. Back in Bimbo's apartment they had a television, but every time she would try to watch anything he would always steal the remote away from her; especially when he saw her watching anything political. It wasn't uncommon for him to spit at her when he caught her watching the _O' Reiley Factor._ Dot flipped through the channels, and found Conan O'Brien.

Guess that would have to do.

Wakko was busy in his art studio, and she could hear the hiss from the spray paint cans all the way in the living room. Now that television was a thing of a luxury, she found that it really _did _make your mind go numb. And she was tired of trying to make herself numb to everything. Now that she was expecting, she had to be able to feel a lot of things. Conan's toothy grin and his less than thoughtful gay jokes did nothing to bring a smile on her face. She wasn't in the mood for this happy go lucky crap, or even the amusingly biased coverage of the midday news.

Did Wakko have any films?

She rose from the small couch and walked to the studio, making sure to cover her nose with her blouse as she smelled the pungent chemicals of the spray-paint. Peeking into the large room she saw her brother with a tightly wrapped red bandanna on his head, his two long ears poking out of the sides. His tongue respectively hung out of the side of his mouth as he worked, and Dot had a flashback of when they were children, when that thing was _always _out.

What intrigued her more was the painting he was making. A toon doing art was something of a rare commodity. Humans didn't like it at all. Still, here her brother was, inking it up. You couldn't really call it a collage, but with the amount of paint dripping from the canvas it was pretty close. On one side there was a gorgeous female; a fox, holding a microphone and her mouth was open wide, belting out an unheard song. One the other side there was what appeared to be a hooker, with the potential of being just as beautiful, but so run down with the caked on filth of the choices she made that her ugliness far outweighed her assets.

Was this what he did now? Art?

Dot let a sigh of appreciation at the sight of her brother's work. "Whoa…"

Wakko jumped a little bit, but then turned around and smiled, though she couldn't see it. He had a mask over his mouth, like the surgeons wore during surgery. His gloves were dirty. Removing the mask, he coughed a little from the fumes.

"Need something?"

"Where did you learn how to..." Dot trailed off, gesturing dumbly to the large canvas. "…You know, do _that_? I don't ever remembering you being this good."

"I've always known how to draw. Its only when I moved out here did I have any time to hone in on it."

Wakko got up from the stool where he was adding the hues to the hooker's bare leg, and went to stand next to his sister. His clothes smelled like paint; he couldn't believe he was thinking this, but he needed a shower. Maybe if he was still living on his own he could walk around his house smelling like chemicals for the rest of the day, but now that he lived with someone else, he had to keep his careless habits in check.

"Dot, put this on." He said, handing her his mask. His lungs would live; he didn't want that poor baby to breathe this junk in. "I don't want you in here without one, okay?"

Dot shrugged, and held it up to her mouth. The both of them admired the painting for a little while longer. It showed astounding skill, and while she could definitely appreciate it for that reason, it bothered her to look at it. Wakko really wasn't much of a speaker. At least, not in the small talk sense. He tended to express himself in other ways. She just had no idea that he could do it by painting.

The subject matter hit too close to home; maybe that's why it bugged her.

"Do you have any movies?" Dot said suddenly, remembering why she came in the first place.

"I'm sure I do. Somewhere…" He said, and gestured for her to follow. "Like I said before, I really don't watch that much TV."

They went to the living room and stood in front of a cabinet in the corner that Dot hadn't noticed before. Strangely enough, it had a padlock on it.

"Why is it locked? They're just movies." Dot said, raising her eyebrow.

"They're a distraction." He said simply. He put his middle and index finger on the metal loop of the padlock, and suddenly broke it in half. Dot looked impressed.

"Good to know you still use your powers for something abnormal." Dot smirked.

"It's only metal, sis. Only metal. And I lost the key a long time ago." Wakko said as he discarded the lock and opened the cabinet.

It wasn't a library, but he actually had some pretty good selections. It was mostly comedy movies and his collection of Andy Griffith disks and other Don Knotts appearances, but her eyes flew to the middle, where the spine of one box read _Pulp Fiction. _

Hell _yes. _

She loved this movie. It blew her mind the first time she saw it. It was one of those movies where you liked it or not the first time you saw it, but the more you thought about it, the more endearing it becomes. Oh, and the sodomy. Can't forget the sodomy.

Dot reached for the DVD and held it in front of her.

"Oh, that thing." Wakko said.

"Yeah, this thing." Dot said, looking up at her brother. "What, you don't like Sam Jackson's Soul Glo hair?"

He laughed and shrugged. "It's just not my favorite. I think I bought it when I was drunk, actually."

"Most people get tattoos when they're drunk, but you buy a movie." Dot said, shaking her head. "Only Wakko Warner."

"Yeah, only me. I'm taking a shower; I smell like shit. Pop that in if you like."

He burped and scratched his stomach on his way out. Not his best work, but who knew that him acting like the slob she'd always known would make her feel even more at home.

Dot went over to the television and slipped the disk into the player. The blue screen turned into the menu and she pressed play. She sat her rump down onto the couch and stared at the television, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. It was swelling a lot lately. And funnily enough she hadn't been getting sick as often as she did when she roamed the streets with Sally Swing. In fact, the most that caused her unease was looking at herself in the mirror and coming to grips with her changing body. Her breasts got bigger, her stomach got bigger…everything just seemed to get bigger. Some days she thought it was gross as hell, but other days she slipped on her homemade two piece swimsuit (made from some of Wakko's old T-shirts) and walked along the beach showing off the new additions, actually _hoping_that someone would see her now awkwardly configured body.

She liked this movie. She _loved _this movie. It was one of those movies that blurred the line of indie and mainstream. Yet regarding taste, you either liked it or you didn't. Plus, it was a wistful comfort from Tarantino's declining directing skills. She wouldn't have sat through either volumes of Kill Bill if it wasn't for her brothers cracking jokes like crazy; without them she would have just turned it off. Life seemed so good when pop culture hadn't yet turned into some giant katana wank off.

_Pulp Fiction _was one of Yakko's favorite movies.

The first time she watched it, it started out with the three of them gathered on their apartment couch. Once it got to Uma Thurman getting an adrenaline shot, Wakko got and went to the kitchen, saying that he was going to make himself a sandwich, and he didn't come back until the last thirty minutes of the movie. Not that either Yakko or Dot minded. They were too absorbed in the shocking events that took place between the nearly unrelated individuals. After it ended, Yakko offered to make her a scratch dinner. Which was unusual to an extent, because he didn't make a habit out of cooking vast meals just for the hell of it, even if it was for his beloved siblings. _Pulp Fiction_, as grotesquely outlandish as it was, had put him in a very good mood.

Dot sighed, remembering that meal. It was…perfect. That whole night was perfect. And she ached for it.

Sure it was a great movie. Sure it had great acting, great directing, a great soundtrack, and great cinematography blah blah blah. But Yakko liked the movie primarily for its last thirty or so minutes. When Samuel L. Jackson talked up a storm to the robber couple in the diner; not even firing a bullet and still getting away clean.

Because it wasn't the gun that Jackson had used as a weapon; it was his words.

And her older brother was one of those people who valued words very much.

Wakko once again skipped the majority of the movie in favor of a shower, and came back in right when Ringo and Yolanda were robbing the diner. In a sick fleeting second, Dot pasted hers and Bimbo's heads on their bodies; like they were the ones robbing the diner. Looking back they seemed like the kind of couple who would do something like that just for kicks. It was unbelievable how sick in the mind that stupid colorless canine had made her.

And all it took was a random movie scene for her to remember all that he did to her, when she was giving an honest effort to push him from her mind.

"Gah…this movie…" Wakko mumbled, scratching the top of his scraggly head that was still wet from his shower. Even as an adult, Dot had a feeling that he still didn't like to bathe too much. But if her presence changed that, then more power to her.

"Be thankful that you missed the butt sex both times." Dot giggled quietly, referring to the last time they watched it when they were all together.

"Well it's good I'm a guy who counts his blessings…" He said, tying his red bandanna around his head again. She swore if he didn't wear that thing then she'd be having all sorts of flashbacks of Yakko. The only thing that set them apart was Wakko's more circular face, and yet to his sister who had known him all her life it still wasn't enough.

The movie ended, and the credits rolled. Dot loved the song that ran with them. It was repetitive too, but not in a bad way, because the song was just _so_good. Bravo, Tarantino, bravo.

She walked up to the television and turned it off. It had been a while since she watched a movie uninterrupted, without being demanded to do something or being told that she was a lazy whore.

Dot abruptly felt restless. Her brother's home was a place of rest, a sanctuary to get back a peace of mind, but it was remote and solitary. There were many times when she felt like being alone, like going to a place where no one knew who she was, where no one knew her as a Warner; just another girl to dance with at the club. To be honest, the only people she ever liked to associate herself with constantly were her brothers, Sally Swing, and Betty Boop. The others needed to look upon her as a complete stranger.

Out there for the world to see, but still somehow invisible.

"You wanna go somewhere?" She asked Wakko after she put away the disk back in its cabinet vault.

Wakko knitted his brow. "What for?"

"I dunno, just to go somewhere."

"Why would you wanna do that?" He asked. Dot rolled her eyes.

"Please don't tell me that you've locked yourself up here for three years straight. Everyone's gotta get out sometime."

"Everyone except me. I like being a smelly hermit." He said, patting his armpits that would probably later hold the same old odor he was known for. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want to dance." Dot said before she could stop herself. And she regretted it. Whenever she got anxious her first choice was to dance; it was a routine. The ear-splitting bass and the constantly moving bodies gave her release. But there was no way in hell that Wakko would agree to that. Apparently he didn't like going out, and it was no secret how protective he was of her especially with the child she was carrying, no matter how much he may have tried to hide it.

_At least _he_ doesn't border domineering when he's_ _trying to protect me…_

"And for that we'd go to a club, right?" He said, already looking skeptical. "Doesn't sound like a good idea to me."

In retrospect it really_wasn't _a good idea. At clubs there were cigarettes, alcohol, and questionable conduct constantly going on in the restrooms. The perfect environment for a woman and her unborn child; riiiiight.

"I'm sure this little fella won't like you bouncing up and down like people do at those clubs." Wakko said, lightly but daringly poking her stomach with a gentle finger.

Dot pulled away and shrugged. "Well I want to go _somewhere_. I'll go crazy being cooped in here. You see, I'm one of those girls who _likes_contact with the outside world."

_Most of the time._

Wakko didn't say anything. He just looked at her musingly.

"So I take it we're here to stay?" Dot said lamely.

He shook his head. "If your really want to go, then I'll take you."

She tilted her head in surprise. "Wait…_really_?"

"Like I said, if you really want to go. But under several conditions."

Dot resisted sighing in annoyance; after all, she had a feeling that her brother was not only doing her a favor, but also stepping outside of his comfort zone; all for her.

"No dancing too hard, no smokes, no alcohol…" Dot nodded expectantly.

"And no blowing random guys in the bathroom. _OUCH_!" Wakko gripped his arm in pain after Dot pounded it with her fist.

"I deserved that. BUT, take a note anyways."

"Anything else?" Dot jeered.

"Yes, actually." Wakko looked her right in the eye, something he wasn't particularly known for. "Either stay by my side, or stay where I can see you."

"Yeah, of course." Dot said, perhaps too distractedly.

"I know I never came across as the mature one Dot, but nothing, I repeat, _nothing _can happen to you. Or your baby."

Her brother's black eyes glittered with a devastatingly pleading gaze. She wondered for a split second if he was trying to prove something, in his own matchless way. He didn't remind her of a parental dictator like Yakko often did. Yakko hid many of his true feelings behind walls; when they were crumbled, they revealed a very unsightly layer on the other side. Not that she could blame her older brother for acting the way he did.

Not blame. But still disparage, yes.

Wakko wore his feelings on his sleeve most of the time, and right now they were out in broad daylight, shining in his eyes.

"Okay, Wakko. Nothing's going to happen. I promise."

His intense look faltered, and he smiled weakly. "Good then."

Dot rubbed her stomach again. She had been running her palm along her tummy a lot lately. It comforted her; a lot more than she thought such a simple act would.

"It's still light out." She said.

"We'll go later tonight." Wakko said, "If you still want to."

This house calmed her depressing thoughts, and her brother helped soothe her wounds. It felt like it was time to take another step out into the world, the same world that was so cruel to her.

"Yeah, I do." She said.

* * *

Yakko's constant trickle of money did him well. For some reason his older brother still felt inclined to send him money every few months. As demeaning as it felt in the beginning, it put a good dent in his expenses back when he couldn't sell a damn thing.

Later when the sun began to set Wakko and Dot went to his garage where he car was almost constantly parked. It was an old fashioned Cadillac that still had a full tank of gas from when he drove it about a month and a half ago. The only reason he bought it was for the occasional trips he would have to make to get food and other provisions for himself. Now, unbelievably, he was going to use it to drive his sister to a club because she said she wanted to get out. He still thought it was a bad idea; she agreed to his terms, said she would be careful. But as much as he liked to fantasize, there was no way that he could watch over her the entire time. Especially when she was out on the dance floor. He couldn't dance to save his life, what did he expect to do when she went out into the crowd?

Why did he agree to do this?

Well, whether he agreed with his past decision or not, he said nothing as they both got into the car and drove towards the towering buildings of civilization to the east. He slid a Gogol Bordello disk into the CD player after about a half hour.

"Wakko, thanks."

"No problem."

"Really, thanks."

"And, really, you're welcome."

The second track, "I Never Wanna Be Young Again", came on.

"Dot, why did you leave?" Wakko asked, staring down the vacant road with only one hand on the steering wheel.

She didn't answer right away. She just stared in the same direction as he did.

"Because nothing really felt right."

"Elaborate." He said in a fake robot voice.

She smirked. "I loved being a child star, Wakko. I drank it up. I know that you guys just looked at it as a way to make ends meet most of the time, but for me it made sense."

When Wakko's silence told her to go on, she did. "The both of you adjusted so easily to the whole 'middle ground' life. Not too up there on the charts, but not below the poverty line either."

Dot sighed. If she had known that it would earn her such a feeling of release, she would have called up Wakko and confessed this crap to him sooner. "I felt caged."

"What makes you think that it was easy for us to adjust?" He said.

"C'mon, you two could do just about anything! You wanted to flip meat patties, then you could. You wanted to be the director of some prestigious art studio, then you could. And you would like it too."

She sank down in the passenger's seat. "What else was I good for other than making fun of Nancy Carrigan and looking cute?"

"Like hell we liked it. Functioning in a humorless society sucks, Dot." Wakko turned down the stereo. "Its like swimming in bland colorless sludge. I didn't enjoy it one bit, and I don't know about Yakko, but I'm pretty sure he hated it too."

_Maybe that's why I ran away to Huntington Beach._

"But us all being together…" Wakko said longingly, "Well, that was more than enough for me, no matter how bad things got."

That probably stung, but it had to be said.

"Yeah…" Was all she said.

They were quiet for a long time, and Wakko considered turning the music back up. It helped him drive, especially when there was no one on the road. Which in itself was a blessing; he didn't do well with inner city traffic. The road rage, the blinding stoplights, the clogged lanes…

"What have you been doing all this time, Wakko?"

"I told you already. I do art, and I sell it."

"And you're telling me that's _all_? Don't you have any friends? Someone's life cant possibly consist of just doing one thing."

_Yeah, it can, Dot. And sometimes it helps. _

"All of the friends I had weren't really friends. They were just my way of getting high every now and then. And then I did something miraculous and wised up, because those bastards were bad news."

Bimbo was one of those 'friends', a very good reason why he almost choked up his spleen when Dot told him what he had done to her. Bimbo was one taco short of a platter, but he went to an extent that Wakko never knew he could. A prime example of how easily good people got mixed up with shitty people. He was a well known supplier of many types of blow. Wakko remembered those days of powder-tipped noses in a two dimensional haze of futility.

He never wanted to go back to those days. Ever.

"And what about girlfriends?"

Wakko couldn't help chuckling. "Ahhh…those were the days of experimentation."

"What do you mean by that?"

"There were a few girls here and there, but not always."

Dot frowned. "Not always?" She repeated. "Well of course, no one can have a boyfriend or girlfriend all the time. They'd sue you."

He laughed harder. "That's not exactly what I meant."

She thought about his sentence. _Not always…? OH._

"Are…are you serious?" She asked, her mouth hanging open. She must have looked absolutely ridiculous because Wakko was almost doubled over on the wheel, but it was an honest to God shock.

"I wonder if I can still save my dignity by saying that it was the drugs that made me do it." Wakko snickered.

"You with…with _men._ That's one doozy of a thought right there. GAH! Why'd you have to tell me that?!"

"Because its funny as hell and you know it."

"So…does this mean that you're gay or something?" The words fell from her tongue like she was about to jump out of the car and run back in the opposite direction. He knew he should be offended, but honestly…this was hilarious.

"No, not really. I just really liked to kiss people when I was high." He said, still grinning.

At that point Wakko couldn't even talk; he was laughing so hard he started to worry that they would get into a car crash if he didn't start paying attention again.

"Wait, so why do you have such a problem with the sodomy segment in _Pulp Fiction_? I figured it would be right up your alley." Okay, now she was just yanking his chain.

"Christ, Dot!" Wakko exclaimed. "Its because its really violent and crazy, and I just don't like that movie in general, so HA."

Dot was laughing too, but it sounded more like it was out of disbelief.

"Why, do you think it's really that weird?" Wakko asked.

"Well…yeah, a little. Not because I have a problem with that kind of stuff, its just that…its _you. _I cant imagine you locking lips with another guy, to be honest."

"Ahhh, yes you can, it just isn't pleasant now, is it?" Wakko thought this was funny; he really did. "But seriously, take it with a grain of salt. It's not like I had this huge epiphany regarding my orientation. I was under the influence, and I went crazy. Simple as that."

"Okay, okay…" Dot said. And then she smiled bitterly. "I guess it's not as bad as your sister coming back after a few years and bringing you tidings of an unplanned pregnancy."

The smile slid off of Wakko's face. She had a point. But to him the two situations were not the same. High or not, he was in control of his own body when he kissed those people. His sister didn't have that luxury.

The buildings were getting more dense, and the cars were too. He vaguely knew this area; if he remembered correctly a popular club was nearby. A nervous tension in his stomach began to squirm, wanting to burst forth. But he kept it under wraps, and his voice even. In bright elegant letters, there was a sign for the Mystique Bay up ahead.

"This place okay?" He asked, his voice suddenly very contained.

Dot looked at the sign, and nodded silently.


	5. Chapter 5

I can't imagine what ffnet would have against more subtle scene breaks besides these huge gray lines. Hm...dunno.

* * *

Television was his preferred method of escaping the trials of life, because it was simple and physically clean. It made Yakko both pissed and amused when people preached about how supposedly harmful it could be. Would they rather their children go out and do meth and coke and all of that other angel dust that the world so wonderfully provided anyone who asked? So TV made you a little brain-dead once in a while; big deal. At least you could get it back after you turned the tube off. With hard drugs, you did them, and you got your fix, and then that was it. The mind deteriorated for good, and you couldn't just switch it back on.

There was an awful lot of drug abuse going on. It seemed like every toon he knew had tried blow at least once. Blow was the most popular among the toons, and it was never figured out why. Although blow was a word that commonly described snorting a drug through the nostrils, it was also a crude abbreviation for Black Lady Owsley Wedge. The powder was a crushed concoction of separate drugs, banded together to create 'the perfect high'. That's what the toons he knew said about it. Yakko had never tried it. That's not to say he didn't have the urge; sometimes things would get so bad he knew all he would have to do was go outside to the corner where all the suppliers hung out in the darkness, but he still didn't. His bitter thoughts on the matter were that his feelings of guilt and regret were all he was holding onto lately; he wouldn't give that away for just a few hours of being loaded.

He had a blatant knowledge that Wakko had been addicted to it before he left. Sometimes he would walk through the apartment door at two in the morning, and when his older brother got out of bed and spewed some of the nastiest accusations about what he was doing out so late, all Wakko would do was laugh. He would _laugh_, for Christ's sake. And more often than not he would fall to the floor, still laughing. And not even a slap across the face would get him to stop laughing. So eventually Yakko would give up trying to knock some sense into his brother and carry him to his room.

Then he would retire to his own room and kick the wall repeatedly, trying to drown out the sound of his brother's drugged-up laughter that would proceed until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

He hated blow. It turned toons into horrid shells of who they used to be. And at this point it was an understatement to say that they didn't need that. He wouldn't go too far to say that the world was against them, but with so many toons doing the drug, they were going to earn themselves even more stereotypical negativities.

But it was hard to convince toons these days that there were other ways to deal with changes. Some listened, some didn't. And some went completely undetected, like his brother.

The welfare of his brother and sister worried him, despite his attempted barriers against such distracting thoughts.

Yakko had a fitful sleep. Dreams about his siblings and his workplace and Simone and _Elsa _just molded into a single night's worth of strange nocturnal delusions. When his alarm that he forgot to turn off started beeping at six forty-five in the morning, his eyes opened immediately like he had never been asleep. He sighed heavily, sitting up in his bed and viewing the familiar sight of his room being completely dark because the sun hadn't risen yet. Normally, he'd fall right back asleep for another hour and for the hundredth time risk being late for work. But he didn't want to go back to sleep. Wakko and Dot were in his thoughts constantly during the day lately, and his dreams were the last sanctuary he had against the memories.

And, well…it was also Saturday. And while sleeping in was his forte, he no longer felt tired enough to chance seeing them in his head again so vividly like he had last night.

So he got up and dressed instead. It had been a long time since he got up this early, especially on a day off. Normally studio workers didn't have _any _days off, but that was one major perk of being the art director. He walked through the hall and into his bathroom and switched on the light on the side of the wall. There were bags under his eyes, which was weird, because the last few weeks he hadn't woken up once during the night. But every time he woke up, he felt like he hadn't had any sleep for months at a time. As routine called for, he brushed his teeth, massaged his ears, and ran his fingers through the slightly more dense fur that accumulated near his cheeks.

About two hours later, and right before he was just about to once again sit his ass down in front of the television, his cell phone on the bedside table back in his room started vibrating and playing a Carlos Santana ring tone. He answered it without checking who it was.

"Yakko Warner here, what can I do ya for?" He said.

A voice he knew very well greeted him on the other side.

"The going rate is forty, but for you I'll make an exception."

He smirked. "Oh, you venereal vixen. How can I ever repay you?"

"By taking me to lunch today. You dig?"

Yakko frowned. "This isn't a date or anything, is it?"

It's better to be frank with someone like Simone. Regarding each other, they used to have somewhat of a lack of self control. It was best not to rekindle those times; they complicated what was already problematic.

"Of course it's not, Yakko. I've learned my lesson."

"Why aren't you at work?" He asked.

"I decided to fake the flu and have some time for myself. And plus my inbox is being filled with those bullshit supervisors who still want to talk about cutting the show. So fuck that noise."

"Am I paying as usual?" Yakko said.

"Not unless you really want to. I would like to stress the 'you taking me' part though. My car's a piece of junk and it only seems to drive okay when my destination is the studio." Simone said.

"When do you want me to come by?"

"Whenever you feel like it. I'll be ready." She replied.

"Okay then." He said.

"Yep."

And she hung up.

Yakko shook his head like he was trying to shoo a fly from his face before he closed his phone. He didn't have a problem doing things with Simone outside of work. Or he thought he didn't. Well either way, it turned out he actually had plans later that day besides watching the preparatory oozing of the presidential election. Oh well. Politics was depressing dirty business, and he had enough of that to deal with during his work hours.

But while dealing with Simone instead had its benefits (IE, having someone with half a brain to interact with, a human woman no less), he had his doubts sometimes on whether or not it was a good idea to be around her more than he had to. It was hard not to entertain thoughts about her though. She seemed like a woman who was born a human when she should've been a toon. From the things she said to her every day movements, it was like they were meant to be animated.

Plus, she could dance the robot like she was made of gears.

He met Simone four years ago, when he was just an on-call animation specialist and she was just a starving comic book artist. She had been trying to sell an idea, but it seemed like no matter how many times she tried getting the funds, they always turned her down. He had been part of one committee that she had shown her ideas to; the one committee that turned her away twice. The meeting of the refusal adjourned, and Yakko went outside the building to smoke. The woman, as she was ambiguously known as back then, put on a decent presentation. He just wished that he could actually give some input; the board was so eager to shoot down potential shows. Most of the time he was just there for show. He knew they didn't give a damn about his opinion. It would be a while before they would give him a fraction of a voice as to what kind of choices were made in the studio.

But he had a niche that would be wise to keep, and he did. If putting up with false progressive moves toward diversity meant support for his family, then so be it.

Yakko lit the clove and inhaled deeply. As the smoke elicited from his mouth, through its translucent haze he could see the woman from the board meeting come out of the same doors he had. She was mumbling to herself, cursing lowly, and fumbling through her purse, though it looked more like a dirty carpet bag.

He raised his eyebrow, and to the present day he remembered his only thought at that very moment he saw her. _Weirdo._

She was unkempt. Not dirty by any means, just unkempt. Her hair was longer than it was now, but it still sat unmoving on her head in a sturdy five inch black afro. To this day, Yakko was glad that she ditched the round thin wire spectacles; because they made her look like an insect.

Whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. And she let the world know.

Yakko rolled his eyes. "Do you mind?" He asked.

"Sorry…sorry. Just can't find my cigs." She said, rubbing her hand across her dark caramel forehead.

He stared for a few seconds before responding. "I have some. Hope you don't mind cloves."

"No, not at all." She said. "You're the toon who was in the meeting."

His brow furrowed as he handed her a cigarette. "Yeah, and I have a name in case you're wondering."

"Okay then, what's your name?"

"Yakko Warner."

She blinked, her hand with the cigarette in it freezing right before she put it to her lips.

"_The _Yakko Warner?"

"The one and only." He replied.

"You're hilarious, you know that? I loved you and your siblings' show. Gosh…" She looked at him, _really _looked at him, and it almost made him feel uncomfortable. "You've really grown up nicely. No wonder I didn't recognize you."

"Glad to know I'm glamorously aging. Otherwise I would've had to pull a Janice Dickinson, and we all know those results wouldn't have ended well."

She pulled the clove from her mouth laughed. A good strong laugh; the kind that was a reminder that some people still had a good sense of humor. "Well aside from having a neck that looks like the female reproductive organ, ol' Janice really isn't that bad of a looker."

Yakko smiled and shrugged. "I guess, if you like manmade mutants." He took one last drag before dropping the butt onto the asphalt and stomping it out with his foot. "By the way, what's _your _name?"

"Simone Hartley, malnourished artist at your service." She said, putting out her hand. Yakko took it, and through his glove he could sense the skill radiating from her skin. She had a nice firm handshake too.

"So…any idea why those bastards dropped me for the second time?" Simone asked.

"Well, on a critical note, I'd have to say it might've been because of your informal language, your unorganized notes, and your tousled appearance."

Simone didn't say anything, but smoked her cigarette in silence with a look of discontent.

"But primarily, it's because good ideas don't sell anymore."

"At least in comics I don't have to deal with this crap. Deadlines are always there, but I always managed to get it done without it riding my ass like these people probably do." She said.

"True. But where's the challenge?" Yakko asked.

"The challenge is to be both self-paced _and _productive." She said. "But screw it. Maybe this is a sign for me to stop trying to step outside of the box like I love doing so much."

Yakko watched as she finished up the clove and dropped it onto the ground. "I don't think it's a sign for jack shit. It just means you have to tie back that big fluff on your head and put on a suit or something. And maybe stop using so many contractions. They seem to frown upon individuality, so save it until you've got yourself a sold show."

Simone smirked. "You sure are being awfully helpful."

"Its because I liked your presentation. It's a good idea. I like your characters, and I like the basis. Its unique." Much like her.

"Why didn't you say anything during the meeting then?" She asked, suddenly serious.

In a mock look of horror, he said, "A toon? Saying something against the corporation they work for? Out of the question."

* * *

A year later, Ersatz Studios became the home of _Elsa._ And a year later, he cared about someone the same amount that he did for his siblings. But it was different. Very different. It was so foreign to him and Simone alike that they shied away from their feelings for each other. As much as he would have liked to believe that the influence of society had nothing to do with their falling out, but a human and a toon being together rubbed the majority of the community the wrong way. So much in fact, that it didn't feel right between them either.

Another part of him was confused that he even liked her in the first place.

Yakko liked the female specimen. Both toon and human women were victims to his watchful eyes, but being a hopper in a pond full of business sharks, there was little time actually act on his whimsical fancies. He wasn't _completely_ small minded when it came to girls, but he had to admit he could get a little picky when it came to his narrow selection. Long hair, bright eyes, fair skin, and buxom. If he did have a chance to ever date someone, most likely they would have to possess all of the above. Otherwise he wouldn't normally give a second glance.

When he saw Simone outside the studio building four years ago, he thought she was strange looking. Not his type at all. She had a gangly body, one that looked both muscular and unfed the same time. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate. He did think she had a nice round face though, and although he always liked lighter shades of eyes, her dark brown eyes that bordered on being black always held the same amount of sparkle as a pair of gorgeous greens would. And sitting on top of her head was a mop of black kinky hair that nowadays, she went to a lot more trouble at making it look presentable. Now that he thought about it, he kind of missed the days when she would walk into work looking like she had been out clubbing all night and had a hangover. Well…perhaps she would have a hangover, but it wasn't like she did anything the night before. All that girl ever did was sit at home and draw. In fact he had a sneaking notion that she didn't even properly feed herself. That would certainly explain her skinny form.

At eleven thirty Yakko got in his car and drove in the direction of Simone's apartment building. He was mildly surprised when she called him asking him to go out like this; she said it herself that she preferred being a recluse who smelled like she owned fifteen cats (which wasn't really true, but she liked making jokes about body odor for some reason).

He arrived, and her apartment window was open. Smirking a little, he revved the engine of his car, knowing that she would recognize the sound quite well. He watched the window for about ten seconds before she poked her face outside and grinned down at him. Simone emerged from the lobby, wearing a shawl around her neck like a scarf and a long dress that dragged on the ground. Her hair was out of the braids, and she sported a relaxed afro.

"Have I ever told you that you look like a Good Times character?" Yakko said as she opened up the door to the passenger seat.

"No, but thanks for noticing." Simone fastened her seatbelt.

"So…any idea of where you want to go?"

"Ha, oh yeah. I guess people like to know their destination when they drive places…"

Yakko sighed and shook his head as he pulled back out onto the road. "What're you in the mood for?"

"Well about you, Mr. Passive? If we were doing this six months ago you would've driven straight to Red Lobster just so you could make fun of the attentive waiters."

"That sounds like a good idea actually. Hope you have cash."

"I always have cash. Being a loner with no social life leaves you pretty rich."

"You're not a loner, Simone. And even if you were, what you're doing now really breaks down that reputation."

"Hm. Good point. But…" She said, smiling a little. "You're different."

"No kidding. Only one made of ink you've ever been with, huh?" He said.

"Not even that. You're just you, and that's cool."

"Nicely described. That could go on a Hallmark card."

Simone chuckled. "You and your words, Yakko."

Red Lobster always cracked him up. And it was only amusing when he had someone to go with, so he was glad that Simone agreed to go there with him. His chest just seemed to fill up with all sorts of droll things to say whenever someone who worked there spoke to him. Not to mention the conservative assholes who just loved to stare open-mouthed at the sight of a human with a toon like this, but then again that satisfaction could be gotten anywhere.

"Hi guys, two for you?" A male waiter greeted them at the door wearing a smile as cheesy as the restaurant's trademark cheddar biscuits.

"Seems that way." Yakko said, trying hard to keep the humorous spite out of his voice and failing miserably.

"Alright then, follow me please."

They got a booth in a secluded corner, one that was thankfully far away from a screaming kid throwing a tantrum somewhere in the building.

"Damn, I haven't been here in forever." Simone said.

"Likewise. After all the last time you came here _was _with me."

"And I remember drinking a ton of wine and accidentally calling our waitress Kathy Bates."

"An honest mistake. She was a little on the portly side." Yakko said.

"Haha, well it was still rude as hell. Sure taught me a lesson that my brain functions plus Chardonnay brings out the retard in me."

The waiter that sat them down came up to their table. "Drinks?" He asked simply. He was a lot colder than before.

"Two waters." Yakko said, staring at him. "And get us two sautéed lobsters."

He walked away without saying anything.

Simone and Yakko didn't talk for a minute. They both stared through the blinds and out the nearby window at the parking lot, neither of them laughing as someone's car was being towed near a different business.

"Is this kind of thing okay with you, Yakko?" Simone said suddenly.

"What kind of thing are you talking about?" He asked.

"This whole…I dunno, getting together even though we aren't actually _together _anymore. Are you okay with it?"

"If it were any other person I'd probably be stabbing a picture of you with a butcher knife. You're far too good of a person for me to get all anal and emotional about."

She didn't reply right away. "Yeah, I guess."

Simone was acting oddly. It wasn't until recently she started acting like she was lamenting something.

"I just cant believe I gave up the times we had just because I was feeling insecure."

"You weren't the only one. Don't keep all the blame for yourself." Yakko said, praying that this lapse of atypical behavior would pass and they would soon be stuffing their faces with lobster.

"Well, I still think its weird that I still get pissed whenever I think about all the damn store clerks that followed me around because they thought I was stealing, or when I told some white boy that I liked him when I was thirteen and he turned me down just because we had different skin colors. And then I end up turning the only guy who ever treated me like I was worth something away just because they're a toon and I'm a human."

Yakko blinked. "That's a mouthful."

Simone inhaled deeply, catching her breath. "Yeah…sorry."

"So…what are you saying, exactly?" Yakko asked tentatively.

"I don't know." She said glibly. "I don't know what I'm saying. Let's just eat lobster."

"I second that." He said. Anything to get her to…stop talking. Hypocritical, yes. But it wasn't the amount of words that she was churning out, it was what she was saying. He liked it when she was happy and deep, not depressed and deep; the latter was a dangerous and creepy combination. From what she was saying it was starting to sound like…

"Here." Said their waiter, setting down their plates.

"Thanks, _Dave._" Yakko said, pointedly pretending to read the guy's name tag out loud. The guy could be a jackass if he wanted; it was his problem if he didn't like seeing humans with toons. Just let the ignorance marinate the public. No one ever said that he couldn't be a jackass back to the world that had such a problem with them.

"Doesn't this steaming pink just bring back memories?" Simone said as she looked at a chunk of lobster meat speared on her fork.

"Of going out to eat or performing cunnilingus?"

"God that's great lunch conversation, Yakko." She said, sliding the piece of meat off her fork with her teeth. "Fuck, that was really disgusting."

"And your hentai drawings aren't?" He shot back, smirking at her.

"Oh no, they are. I'm just accustomed to me being the perverted one and you being the one who responds calmly to the graphic nature of my imagination."

"Right, right." He said.

Good food. Good conversation. Good humor. And…kind of good service. Their plates became empty and their stomachs full, and soon neither of them could've pounded down another Red Lobster cheddar biscuit.

"Man…I'm not sure my body can handle all of this food." She said.

"You'll be fine. It's probably glad you're paying so much attention to it, skinny girl."

"But being a twig is alright…"

They both sat in a comfortable silence. The dim lighting over their table made their eyes open and close slowly, dazedly.

"I get the feeling that I talk too much, Yakko."

He raised an eyebrow. That title belonged to him. Perhaps he wasn't living up to his standards. "Why would you say that?"

"Because a lot of the time all we ever do is exchange witty banter. For a while now I've been able to tell that something's been on your mind, but I never shut up so I could ask what it was."

"How observant." He said plainly.

"So…what's on your mind?"

"I want my family back, to be frank." Yakko said. He propped his chin on his palm and stared somewhere in the middle of the table.

"Hmm…" Simone nodded her head. "I remember."

"Don't we all." Yakko said.

"Wakko still living in Huntington Beach?"

"Last I heard from him."

"And Dot?"

"She's still in the Los Angeles area. Or at least that's what I've been told."

"Well track her down and get her to come back. Tell both of them to come back."

"She left because of me; she sure as hell isn't going to come back if I ask her to." He said.

"Oh come on…"

"Can we stop talking about this? Please?" Yakko said curtly, not looking her in the eye.

"Yeah…of course. You wanna bail?"

"Sure."

They left the restaurant, ignoring the stares that they received on the way out. The ride back to Simone's apartment was quiet, but it had a drop of tension in the air. But it wasn't her fault, Yakko decided. It was because he didn't have the balls to do what he wanted the most. He stopped at her apartment building and unlocked the car door for her.

"Thanks for today. Getting away from the tube is nice once in a while." He said, smiling slightly.

"I agree." Simone said, and that was all. She gave him one last warm smile and exited his car, retreating to her home three floors up. He wondered if she still had newspaper clippings of inconspicuous events pinned up all over her wall, or if she still collected thousands of books that she didn't even have the time to read.

Their relationship seemed so intricate sometimes. But somehow it was easy to ignore the complications in favor of both professional and lighthearted interaction.

"_Well track her down and get her to come back. Tell both of them to come back."_

Simone was right. She was almost always right. The black woman made his issues seem so minimal, so easy to solve.

She had no idea how badly he wanted to do what she said. How badly he wanted to do a lot of things lately. Something was holding him back from doing them, but it was hard to tell what it was anymore. He used to think it was his pride that kept him locked up in his unwanted solitude. Perhaps it still was.

The only thing he was sure of is that even with such a woman as a companion of sorts and a high paying once fulfilling job, it was getting unbearable without his sibs.


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright you two, you're next." The bouncer outside the Mystique Bay said as some people filtered out.

Dot couldn't remember the last time she was this impatient. She never _ever _had to wait in line for a club, much less Mystique Bay. No matter how many times she told the bouncer who she and Wakko were, or who she had ties with, or that she 'wasn't really pregnant, she was just gaining weight', he still made the both of them stand in line. It had already been a half hour, and they were finally at the front of the line. Dot swore to whatever deity sat up in the clouds laughing its ass off at them, if anything happened to keep them from going into the club she was going to whip out a club and go insane. It wasn't every day that she acted this selfish, but tonight, it was all or nothing, and she really didn't like those odds.

Wakko stood close to her, their shoulders wedged tightly against each other as they waited in line. She could tell that he didn't like being in such close proximity with all of these other people. It must've been one secluded life he had been living since he moved out of Yakko's apartment. The sounds, the smell of polluted fumes coming from various factories on the outskirts of the district, and the air that was the exhaust of the thousands of bodies who lived in the inner city areas were all making his fur stand on end.

"You alright there, Wakko?" Dot asked as she looked back at him. He pretended to look bored, but she knew otherwise.

"I'm just great. You know I just love being the one that the people with smoker's cough seem to flock to."

Dot laughed at him. "Once we get inside we'll be okay." He probably wouldn't believe her, but the club had a surprisingly good air conditioner that helped keep the building from overheating. She certainly had no desire to die from exhaustion after all.

Before they parked, Dot looked at the club's neon sign and gulped down a frustrated sigh as a bunch of memories concerning the place came rushing back. Mystique Bay was where she met Sally. Mystique Bay was where she met Betty. Koko. Even Bimbo. Or where she first saw him, rather. She could remember being unable to take her eyes off of the dog as he consumed shot after shot of what looked like whiskey. Back then she was cautious because of her inexperience with strangers in these parts. But she was sucked into his void when he approached her months later on the street.

"Alright, go on in." The bouncer said. Dot smiled gleefully and pulled her brother by the hand into the club.

The music was soft at the moment, which was probably a good thing. At that point she was sure that Wakko would just explode if he had to make his way through a crowd of people rambunctiously throwing themselves around to the beat. He already bristled from trying to keep his composure for this long. Dot was getting annoyed; he neededto calm down.

"Let's go upstairs." She said. The winding classy staircase led them to the second floor where they could look down below at all the dancers without being engulfed by the throng of dancers.

"Kind of looks like fun, doesn't it?" Dot said, nudging Wakko in the arm and gesturing to the slow dancing that was now taking place. All he did was shrug.

"You're the life of the party tonight." She said sarcastically.

"The only reason I ever came to this place was to get my fix. I don't even know _how _to dance, Dot." Wakko said in mild irritation.

"Well how 'bout I teach you?" She asked hopefully. "I learned from the best. So you'll learn from the best too."

"Ugh…maybe later." He said.

Dot smiled in amusement at his unwillingness to actually do anything. If he had acted like this a few months ago she would've let lose a bitching session. But now, she was just glad that he had let her come out at all. It was better to be glad that she was there instead of complaining at her brother for not being a little more cheerful about doing the last thing he wanted to. Being in here made her annoyance of the bouncer outside disappear. Even if it did lead her into some troubling places, being a social butterfly was just who she was. And it felt slightly wrong to deny herself that.

Her hand went to her stomach again, doing the motion that had become so consistent ever since she started living with Wakko. It was improbable that the baby was big enough to move around yet, but she vowed she could feel it pressing up against her stomach. Like it shared her longing to dance as well.

_Easy, champ. I promised your uncle we'd take it easy tonight._

The both of them gazed at the sight before them, letting the music and constant static of other voices bring them closer to a realm of which a trance is the only way to understand anything. Dot felt herself letting go of all of the garbage that had happened, all of the putrid rubbish that she had gotten herself into, or that found its way to her. She glanced at Wakko who stood close by her side. His dark eyes were glazed over and the colors from the show lights were flickering off of them like clear black ponds. As much as Dot wanted to hide it, she didn't want to be alone. She left her family, but she didn't really want to leave them. What she thought she wanted was self-sufficiency and independence. And perhaps it was, but only in one way. She decided that she was stupid for choosing such a skewed whim over her brothers. A gratified part of her chiseled heart was thankful that she at least got one of them back.

For a moment, despite her swirling regrets and the feeling that her bliss probably wouldn't last long, she knew what serenity felt like.

"How about now?" Dot asked, grinning, it had probably only been about ten minutes since she last asked.

Wakko frowned, but Dot made sure she really worked him over with an extra happy look on her face. She wasn't trying to be manipulative, but perhaps it was just in her nature to get what she wanted. Finally he caved in. "I guess..."

Another slow song came on, and she pumped her fist in the air in triumph. Slow songs were a lot easier to dance to than a fast one, especially when teaching an ungainly and averse sibling the ropes.

"Can we…stay up here though?" He asked as he looked at the crowd below them with mild contempt. Dot rolled her eyes, but nodded.

"Whatever. Now…" She said, taking his hands. "Put your hands on my waist."

He did so; begrudgingly. Dot started laughing as she draped her arms around his neck, and he glared at her.

"Wow, this is awkward." He muttered, so low that she could barely hear him over the music.

"Just chill out, Wakko. It's not that big of a deal."

"You're talking to a guy who only took a step out of his yard just to get groceries. Yeah, it _is _a big deal for me."

"You're being a killjoy. Now just hold me close like this." She said, and laughed again as her enlarged stomach pressed up against his. "And just move to the beat of the music. It's just a sway, when you think about it."

His tense body started to relax as the song played on. Dot's stare was focused on her brother's face the entire time, but his darted to places that were anywhere but her direction. He was very on edge about this whole situation, and though at first she blamed it on the fact that he honestly didn't get out very much, there had to be something else going on inside of his head. But whatever was bothering him, he said nothing, and held her steadily as they swayed together. She mused that they had never been like this together; so profuse in nearness. When it came to the pleasant physical contact, it was always Yakko who had provided the hugs or the kisses on her forehead. It wasn't that she felt uncomfortable doing the same with Wakko, it just wasn't ordinary between them. And it wasn't like she didn't like it now. In fact, it felt kind of nice. Or much nicer than being in a hostile tangle with him. Oh, how happy she was that they had outgrown that horrific phase. If it had kept up into adulthood, she wasn't sure that either of them would have lasted long enough to tell the story of their lives.

"Wakko, what's wrong?" She asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

He gave a lopsided smile, but it didn't look real. "I thought we already had this discussion."

"No, you adapt better than the Borg. Something out there's making you act funny."

"I'm just having flashbacks is all. Seeing people from those days boggles my mind."

"They won't do anything to you if they see you, right?" Dot asked.

"Probably not. I'll bet my whole Don Knotts collection they're all too high to even notice I'm here." He said, tearing his eyes away from his old acquaintances hidden in various crowds around the club and looking back at his sister.

"That's good. The last thing I need is people from either of our pasts coming and ruining what we've got." She replied restlessly. "If they're trashed, then don't sweat it."

"I know…it's still weird though."

If it was possible, she felt him hold her even tighter.

* * *

His stomach lurched more every second they stayed there. Wakko knew that Dot loved to be social, that she loved to go out and explore the world around her, and he didn't want to pull her away when she was obviously enjoying herself. But seeing the people who had supplied the substance that turned him into something the never wanted to be was disturbing. While he cleaned up, moved out, and severed the ties to the dangerous path he was going down, his friends at the time still did blow. There they were, smashed with the lethal powder speckling their rotten brains, while he had to dedicate all of his time to fighting the urge to end up the same way. His opinion about the public was not changed. Really, it was being enforced. And his opinion was that the public was nothing but tainted rivers and lakes, shriveled up trees and dry nutrition-lacking dirt.

It upset him.

As he and Dot sat noiselessly at a table on the second floor, he became lost in his own thoughts. It happened when he was alone as well, but here it was more like a defense mechanism so he wouldn't have to give all of his attention to his hectic surroundings. He didn't want to be here. At first he thought he could deal with it, but as the moments ticked away it was getting more and more difficult. A few times he brought up his hands to massage his throbbing temples, but the pounding music made his efforts fruitless.

"So I take it you found your darling brother?"

Wakko looked across the table to see whose voice it was. Platinum blonde Sally Swing and all of her demure glory had pulled up a chair and sat next to Dot, crossing her long defined legs. The second she sat down she put out her cigarette in the unused ashtray in the center of the table. Dot said nothing, but grinned cheekily at her swinger friend.

"How have you been, Mr. Warner?" She said smoothly, and Wakko wondered just how such a soft voice could overpower the music.

"Just peachy." Wakko said shortly.

Sally smiled at his aloofness. She turned her head towards Dot and they began to talk about something that even his sensitive ears couldn't pick up. It wasn't that he hated Sally Swing. She was old fashioned, gorgeous, witty, and was one of the best dancers he had ever known in his entire life. But he knew who and what she associated herself with, and that was something he did not agree with. More power to Dot for having such a clear thinking companion, but that didn't mean he liked what kind of lifestyle they had shared before his sister had come home. Sally hadn't tried to convince Dot to go back where she belonged sooner. She hadn't tried to tell her that this kind of life wasn't suited for anybody.

An unfair set of terms for his minor dislike of the swing dancer, perhaps. But he didn't feel like he had to explain himself to anyone.

"They're playing jazz, Sal." Dot said. "So why aren't you down there?"

Sally closed her eyes in annoyance. "Oh, I was down there alright. Seems to be a lot of horny assholes running around here. I couldn't even do a solitary jitterbug without someone's eager junk poking my backside."

Wakko was about to ask just why she did the things she did when there was a chance she could end up like his sister, but then again, maybe his hard-earned sobriety came with judgment that he had no right to make, so he bit his tongue.

"I'd be careful tonight, you two." Sally said. "There're a lot of sickos out tonight. I've definitely met a good share of them too."

"C'mon, we'll be fine. I've got my brother." Dot said, smiling a little,

"I'm sure Mr. Warner is a very good body guard." Sally said as she looked elsewhere with a mere hint of worry tinged in her expression. "But still, watch your step."

And then she got up and left, almost floating as her skilled feminine gait let her disappear into the crowd.

Wakko and Dot stared after her with confused looks. They turned back to each other, silently asking if the other knew why the normally blatant female toon was being so cryptic. She didn't frequently ask people to heed warnings like that; if you were smart, you stayed out of trouble, and if you were dumb you got yourself in it. That's the way Sally Swing apparently saw it. Wakko felt the uncomfortable vibes tugging at his intuition multiply.

"Yo, mind if I use the restroom real quick?" Dot asked, holding her lower abdomen as if it would burst any second.

"You went like, five times before we left." He said, and frowned slightly.

"Well junior here is pressing on my bladder, so unless you want a piss-covered sibling in your car I suggest you let me go."

"Let me come with you." He insisted. "It was our agreement after all."

"Hey, I never said anything about you going with me to the restroom. I'll be fine, I promise."

"Dot…" He said warningly. There was something out there in that sea of people that had been making him uneasy that entire time, and he didn't want her to wander by herself. He didn't care that she had spent three years in this kind of life fending for herself. Even if it wasn't logical, it was like she and the unborn child were now his responsibility. It was just an instinctual reaction to what she had told him.

If there was one thing he learned from his and Dot's experiences, it was that even the strong can become a victim when faced with a shroud of instability.

She rose from her chair and rubbed his red-clad head affectionately. "If I end up doing something stupid, then you can punish me as you see fit."

Wakko still frowned at her, losing the battle between their settlement and her pleading face. He would later regret this for the rest of his life, but he sighed heavily in defeat.

"Fine. Be back in five minutes."

She nodded in thanks, and left. Every nerve ending in his body told him to follow her, whether she liked it or not. They flickered in urgency, and he rose too late as Dot was already out of sight. He cursed loudly, and was about to weave his way through the crowd of people when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're goin', buddy?"

Wakko turned around to give a hearty shove to whoever was holding him back, but seeing who it was made him stop and for a brief second forget about his sister. It was Fitz the dog. An old friend. Well on second thought, he wasn't exactly a 'friend', but they did share some good times, even _sober _good times. What he was doing in such a populated public place was beyond the Warner though. Usually the dog got his fix in abandoned warehouses and project buildings, using up his purchase within a few hours. Good guy deep down (possibly), but a dumbass all the same.

_Just like his brother._

"I haven't seen you in a long ass time." Fitz said, a joint in between his right paw. "What brings you out in these parts again?" His tone was jovial, but it didn't warm his icy high expression in the least. Wakko picked up on yet again, something else he found to be out of place in the club.

"My sister wanted to come here." Wakko said. He hoped he could shake Bimbo's white-furred brother off quickly so he could find Dot.

"Oh really?" Said Fitz, taking a long drag off of the marijuana cigarette. "As far as I'm concerned she gets a little wild whenever she comes here. Haven't seen her in a while either."

"That's because we've both been busy." Wakko said curtly.

"Busy doing what? Those fucking paintings that you sell for a dime a dozen? Man…" The white dog flicked away the herb, looking strangely lucid. "I missed you when you left, you know."

"Look, I gotta go find my sister, okay? We'll talk later." Wakko said, lying about the latter. He was going to find Dot and they were both going back home. But the dog made a grab at him again and this time his mouth was the shape of a snarl. It was like Fitz was _trying _to keep him there.

"Let go of me, Fitz." He shouted. He wrenched his arm away from the dog's grasp.

"So you're dumping me again, is that it?" The dog slurred, proving that perhaps he wasn't as sober as Wakko thought he was.

"Just like your slut of a sister dumped my brother."

He stopped. Turning around slowly to look at the bastard, he asked slowly:

"What the hell did you just say?"

The dog laughed, high as can be. "My brother was the only one out there who could tame your little sister; taught the bitch a lesson she'll never forget."

Wakko launched himself onto the canine toon, throwing all of his weight into a tackle that audibly knocked the wind out of his old smoking partner. He could hear people around him shouting and pointing, and there was a single shard of glass from cup on the table they had overturned in his hand, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered as both of his fists flew one after another into Fitz's face. It became bruised in a matter of seconds, but Wakko couldn't stop. He didn't _want _to stop. Imprisonment for what he was doing didn't even cross his enraged mind. The only thing that he was set on doing was beating the dog underneath him to a pulp that would deform him for the rest of his miserable life.

A pair of arms hooked themselves around his torso and pulled him off of the dog, and started dragging him away. He didn't know who was holding him, but he kept trying to get free. Fitz got up shakily and started walking with whoever was dragging him through the club. All the while Wakko was yelling out threats and sputtering insults. People barely stared at him on the way out, automatically thinking he was some crazy toon who got out of control and started a fight. He didn't care what they thought about him though. The only thing he could think about was getting free and finding Dot, who was still nowhere in sight.

Whoever was holding onto him was strong, because even as they dragged him out the back doors of the club and onto the pavement, he still couldn't get free until they let go of him. Wakko staggered to his feet and saw Fitz standing with four _enormous _other toons who looked like rabid rottweilers, but their size didn't faze him at all. His eyes immediately panned to who was in the bigger one's arms.

Dot looked nearly microscopic in size compared to the guy, and Wakko felt every vessel in his body threaten to pop at the sight of the scumbag holding her back. There was a scratch on her forehead, and the back of her hand tried its best to nurse the darkening bruise on the side of her face.

Fitz stepped out from behind the thugs, accompanied with another toon who looked like a rat from the sewers. He wore a sharp white velvet suit and was inhaling a thick cigar out of a hole in his throat. Wakko wanted to go insane on them; to make them pay for this. To take out all of the built up frustration on them. But they were too large, just too large. Even the middle Warner couldn't take them all on by himself.

"Allow me to introduce myself." The toon in white said, and his voice was silky and calm. Which was ironic since he had to use a hole in his neck in order to smoke. He had a bit of an accent too. "Sergio Shrew, entrepreneur and supplier of Black Lady Owsley Wedge, or more commonly known as blow."

Wakko clenched his fists so hard his gloves threatened to tear in the palms. He didn't give a damn who this guy was, so why was the bastard wasting his time?

"That's nice to know." Wakko said, taking an ominous step forward.

"Not another step." Sergio said, still deadly calm. He turned to his side and made eye contact with the thug who had Dot in his clutches. "All I'd have to do is snap my fingers and he would break her neck like a toothpick."

Wakko refrained. "What the hell do you want with us?"

"I assume you know Bimbo, correct?" Sergio asked, his black eyes not showing an inkling of emotion. "He's been a customer of mine for a very long time. Good man, good man."

"I bet you didn't know he was a grade-A rapist though, did you?" Wakko snarled.

Sergio ignored him. "However, these past few years I've been questioning the fidelity of his payments. He's been taking a lot, and giving a little. And that worries me."

The shrew threw the stub of the cigar to the ground and stomped it with his bare wrinkled rat-like feet, and stepped forward. Although the toon was considerably shorter than Wakko, for some reason he felt compelled to draw back.

"Because you can lose a lot when you refuse to pay your bills."

"So why don't you go find him and make him give you your fucking money, and let Dot go?" Wakko spat.

"He apparently has a skill that I had no knowledge of, and he has disappeared off my radar." Sergio said. "I suppose I should commend him for such a feat. It is hard to hide from my establishment."

Sergio swaggered over to where Dot was still being held and held a lock of her hair between his fingers. "So I'm taking his woman as payment. My brothels are wearing thin; she'll make an excellent addition."

"But that's not fair!" Wakko said, and he tried to wet his dry mouth. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.

"I guess I should say that life isn't fair, or something cliché like that." Sergio drawled, "In retrospect, however, I think this is a very appropriate exchange."

The ratty toon took one last look at Dot, and smirked. "Looks like she has a bun in the oven too. Just as well."

He snapped his fingers, and they began to walk away.

_No…don't leave with her. Don't take her with you. Don't take _them _with you…_

"No!" He shouted, running after them and jumping onto the back of the toon who still held his sister. He brought his arm around the guy's neck and squeezed as hard as he could. This move was in vain, because his neck was as thick as the trunk of a small pine tree, and he easily threw Wakko off, letting him land tersely onto the jagged concrete.

In the act of getting Wakko off of his back, the brute had let Dot go in the process. She broke away and started running as fast as she could. It was only then that Sergio raised his voice.

"_She's getting away!_" He hissed.

Wakko clutched his upper body in agony, having fallen right on his side. His blurry vision scanned the area, ignoring Sergio spitting and shouting at his minions, and tried to spot his sister. But he didn't find her.

She was gone.

Sergio stopped shouting. The shrew was breathing hard and his eyes were swollen with visible veins. He looked down at Wakko who was still on the ground, gasping and trying to get the wind that was knocked out of him back into his lungs.

"You'll pay for that one, you insolent fool."

Sergio picked him up by the collar of his shirt and punched him hard in the face. Not having the strength to even cry out in pain, Wakko fell to the ground once more, weakly cupping his battered face. Damn, for a gangly mole rat thing, the bastard had a good fist.

"It's no loss. She won't get far."

Wakko didn't hear them as they left. In fact he didn't hear much of anything. All he could do was moan in pain in the back ally of the Mystique Bay, all the while his thoughts berating him for being so stupid. If only, _if only _he hadn't allowed her to go by herself. And in under an hour everything that had seemed so perfect just went to hell.

The time passed, and the sounds in the nightclub went on uninterrupted. Wakko finally found the strength to hoist himself up and begin walking to his car. There was no way he would be able to drive tonight. His brain was rattled and knocked up against the sides of his skull one too many times, and a car accident would be the icing on the cake. But he went to the parking lot anyway. He found his Cadillac and fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He should look for Dot, wherever she was. But he couldn't drive.

He couldn't let _them _find her first.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph."

He didn't know who had spoken. But whoever they were, they caught him just in time as he almost fell to the ground again, no longer able to lean on the side of his car.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Wakko tried his hardest to focus on whoever was holding him up, but he just couldn't do it. All he could see was white haired spit curls, and its strands were irritating his aching face.

"Dot…gone." He was sure those were the words that slipped from his lips. And then he blacked out.


	7. Chapter 7

Consciousness tugged at the nerves behind his eyes, and against his will Wakko's eyes started to open. He didn't seem to have control over anything; he tried to move his finger and he failed. After a few seconds of battling his inability to move, he gave up, and slowly started analyzing where he was by touch alone. His neck was propped up on pillow that was sturdy but soft against his fur, and something spongy and wet kept pressing itself up against his forehead, causing a stinging sensation. Finally, after many attempts of opening his sensitive eyes, he found himself lying on his back and looking into a very familiar face, but at that moment his mind was far too exhausted to place it.

A woman with a pouty red lips and a head the shape of a wide curvy squash was dabbing his sore face with a damp sponge. She said nothing as they caught each other's gazes. Some sort of unspoken understanding unwove, and for the time being they accepted each other as the patient and the medicinal caretaker. And although the water over his cuts stung, it was doing a good job at bringing back lucidity to his shaken mind.

Finally, she said, "How're you doing, Warner?" Her voice was high pitched with a northern New England accent.

Wakko gently pushed the sponge in her hand away from his face and slowly sat up, moaning as every bone and muscle in his body seemed to creak. He held a shocked reaction as he saw where they were. He was in his same old bed, in his same old room, in his same old house back in Huntington Beach. It felt like he hadn't seen home in years, and he heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of such a comfortable and pleasant surprise.

"I feel like I swam the Pacific Ocean in a single night." He said, turning back to the woman who had been nursing him, if anything to get a better look at his savior. His jaw dropped.

Betty Boop was sitting on the edge of his bed with the sponge still in her hand, staring at him like he could fall back over any second. As funny looking of a toon she truly was, it was common knowledge that Betty had a certain charisma about her that turned her awkwardness into…sexiness. She was also a veteran of being in some pretty cracked out cartoons. The Fleischer brothers really worked her over when it came to the stuff that looked like they were tripping on acid when they sketched out the ideas for it. She wore her trademark strapless black dress that was held up only by the pronounced curves of her bodacious body.

The only thing that he couldn't remember her being drawn with was stark white hair. It used to be a slicked down series of jet black slopes, ending in spit curls that framed her globular face.

"Betty Boop?" He said breathlessly.

She nodded solemnly.

"How…why…"

"You're very lucky, you know." She said softly. "I knew I had missed them, and I was about to leave."

"How did you get me home?"

"I used your car, hope you don't mind. A damn shame that you bled a little on the passenger's seat. Very nice model."

Wakko didn't care about that. He was still baffled that one of the greatest culture icons had been the one who drove him all the way back home _and _cleaned the open wounds that had been inflicted on his face. How in the world did she even know where to drive with him unconscious in shotgun? He brought his hand up and rubbed his cherry red button nose.

"I'm…sorry, I'm really in the zone right now."

"Understandable. From the look of it, they really did a number on you."

Everything in present existence halted at her words.

In a flurry of grainy bloody images the entirety of last night came flooding back into his exhausted head. Making a sound somewhere between a cough and a shout, Wakko closed his eyes and gripped his temples at the memories; the grizzly disgusting memories that filled him with an insane amount of regret and self loathing. He saw Dot go into the darkness of the streets with her hand cradling her stomach, like she knew exactly where she was going. The voices, the faces, the thoughts, feelings, and every nuance came back in an ugly crimson waterfall that drowned him for a few seconds. He felt hands on his shoulders, helping him stay up; otherwise he would have dropped down to the hard wood floor and sobbed like a child. Betty obviously wanted nothing to do with that.

"Look, man." Betty said, gripping his shoulders with surprising strength. "The slurred tidbits that you muttered about Dot all the way back here last night really didn't help me out. I need you to tell me everything that happened."

Still breathing heavily, Wakko didn't open his eyes. Her acute voice was helping in bringing him back to earth, though. For a few moments he couldn't speak. The memories were grating the insides of his skull like a group of demons trying to escape.

"Take a few deep breaths." She told him. And he complied. Things were happening awfully fast.

"Dot and I were at the club…" He started, and then paused. His voice was having trouble leaving his throat. "We were at the club, and she taught me how to dance."

Issues of relevance aside, Betty stayed quiet through most of his story.

"Said she needed to go to the bathroom, and I let her. Fitz came up to me…"

"Fitz?" Betty sharply interrupted, her wide girly eyes narrowing at the mention of the dog's name. But after that, she went quiet once again.

"He said a bunch of stupid shit to me about my paintings, and I could handle that, but then he said something about Dot that really pissed me off, then I went crazy on him."

In the end, he supposed, he and Fitz both got a raw deal when it came to physical injury last night.

"This huge guy dragged me out back…and there was a group of thug-toons who were just _huge_, and one of them had Dot behind his arm-"

"Did they have a leader?" Betty asked, staring at him intently. Wakko took a step back from his traumatic haze of recollections and noticed that her demeanor had turned icy. Her unfamiliar white hair only served to further the change in her attitude. Was his tale really that alarming to hear?

"Yeah…God, what was his name…"

"Sergio Shrew?" She asked quietly.

"Yes! That's him." Wakko said, snapping his fingers. "Wait…how d'you-"

"What else happened?" She interrupted again.

"The bastard said that Bimbo couldn't make his payments on the blow, so he was taking Dot instead."

"They don't know where Bimbo is?" She asked.

"Apparently not." Wakko said, reaching behind his head and tying his loosened red bandana tighter. "I took a chance and tried to stop them before they left. Dot got loose, and she just ran."

He exhaled loudly. "I don't know where she is."

Betty wasn't looking at him anymore. In fact she stared at some unseen thing in the air with her arms crossed with an unbecoming grim expression on her face.

"For all I know, he might've already found her."

"I doubt that." She said immediately, like she hadn't been zoning out at all.

"How do you know?" He asked.

"Because I knew Dot well when she first came out there; we were in the same boat. If he _does _manage to find her anytime soon, I'll actually be surprised."

"Would she really be that hard to find?"

Betty smirked. "You have no idea."

That hardly made a dent in Wakko's sheer worry for his sister, but it helped a little bit. She stood up from the bed and walked over to the window. "Can I smoke in here?"

"I'd rather you didn't." Wakko replied, still accustomed to suit the condition of his house to Dot's needs.

She shrugged. "I told her to stay away from that dog. I _begged _her. But she didn't listen." Looking over at Wakko still on the bed, she shook her head. "If I knew half the things I know now about that particular group I would've called her in as a runaway, just so she wouldn't have to be exposed to them."

Then she chuckled bitterly. "Then again, the cops couldn't have cared less about a runaway toon."

"How do you know Sergio?" Wakko asked her, sounding almost accusatory.

Betty didn't answer for a long time. Wakko had never met her before; which was strange since he and his siblings had met many of the most famous toons at least once before. He could remember her being perky and cutely suggestive. More than anyone, he knew that toons were different off the screen. Still…seeing her moody and cynically woeful was something of a new experience for him.

"I was once his customer."

The sentence rang through the room like a heavy curtain that opened just a crack to let slivers of Betty's past come through.

"Met him through Bimbo. He was my main source, and then I realized I could get more for less if I just went to _his_ supplier. The canine bastard was charging twice as much for an ounce than the shrew."

She looked back at him. "Are you _sure _I can't smoke in here?"

Wakko raised an eyebrow. In all honesty the woman looked like she needed something to calm her down while she told her presumably uncomfortable tale. "Okay." He said.

"Thank God…" Betty reached into a breast pocket that he never would have guessed could actually hold a miscellaneous thing like a pack of cigarettes. She pulled out a carton and lit one in a flash. Wakko almost asked for one, but even though it wasn't booze or drugs, he still felt he needed to keep his body free of those things, if only for another day.

And so far he was a fan of how it fit so rightly between her full lips.

"There's something about blow that just…gets inside of you."

"Well yeah, you _do _snort it."

"Ch." Betty scoffed and showed him the inside of her elbow, where bruise-colored scar tissue dotted the skin. "I went all the way, hon. But that's beside the point."

She took a drag. "This may surprise you, but I feel washed up. Like a has-been. A lady who's way past her prime. But…whenever I took blow, I felt like I was a million bucks again. Like I could just walk onto any stage and dance my heart out, just like old times."

Wakko knew the feeling well. Blow hit a spot in every toon that took it, and they all said the same thing: that the zest of life during their careers glowed inside them again. The feeling was ultimately beautiful and made you feel free as a bird, yet pleasantly anchored down by the responsibility that you might've felt when you were still in the business. On top of the world with nothing but the clothes on your back and the talents that you were given.

That's what blow did.

"A couple years before I met your sister, I overdosed." Betty said. "I would've been a goner if it wasn't for Koko."

Koko the Clown. White faced, starry eyed, with black painted lips. Wakko twitched. He still disliked clowns very much.

"My old co-star could be really persuasive. He helped me get sober. No, _made _me get sober. Worst fifteen months of my life. Even after that, it was hard to fight the urge."

Betty laughed softly. "I mean, if you have to choose between reality and euphoria, which one are you going to be drawn to?"

Underneath his somber surface that was hanging onto her every word, he was vaguely happy that he and Betty Boop actually had common ground.

"Koko told me something interesting. Blow is made of your run-of-the-mill substances. Cocaine, Heroine, Opium, LSD…you get it."

Wakko suddenly remembered the three foot tall Bootsy Collins that appeared on his shoulder during a particularly good trip.

"But he thinks there's something else in there too. Something that makes toons go crazy."

He raised his eyebrows. This was certainly something he hadn't heard before. Already it was starting to sound like one of those hair-brained conspiracy theories, but he listened on anyways.

"PVP." She said simply.

Wakko just tilted his head. "And that would be?"

"Polyvinyl pyrrolidone!" She half exclaimed. "An ingredient in the ink most toons are made of. Don't you see?" Betty's face looked manic, while Wakko's looked purely weirded out.

"What better way to make the toons lose control than to give them a drug that makes them crazy for their old vocations? Just slap what makes us 'us' into a little illegal package and voila, and you got yourself a failing toon society!"

Apparently she overexerted herself, and she took a good long drag off of her cigarette, finishing it off completely. Wakko was nearly speechless at her manic outburst. Although at the same time, he thought it was strangely engaging. Seemed like the 1930's sex symbol had really put her mind to something that few probably knew she had.

"So since then, I've dedicated most of my time to finding bastards like Sergio and shutting them down; in fact, last night I was tracking him. I was close, _so _close. I tell you, if you go to the cops saying you found a toon's dead body in a ditch, they won't do a damn thing. Tell them its drug related, and all of a sudden they're all over it like Ike Turner's fist on Tina's cheek. They bust it quick."

She opened up one of the bedroom windows and threw out the finished cigarette. "Only because they believe that it could harm humans too, though. Otherwise, they'd let us destroy ourselves without even blinking."

He wasn't sure why she was going on about the whole polyvinyl…thing. Personally, he didn't really buy those psychotic schemes that people seemed to create when something was amuck in the community. In all seriousness he thought it was just the growing stupidity of his people; the incapability for them to adjust to being normal instead of living life rich and famous. They needed to take the fall for something that they screwed up on; not blame it on someone else. But all that aside…

"Not to be disrespectful, but Betty, I don't care about the drugs. Maybe someday I'll be as brave as you and try and bring justice and stuff to toons everywhere, but really, I just want to find my sister. And no matter how many times you tell me that she'll be alright out there by herself, I'm not gonna be convinced."

Betty Boop stared at him for a few seconds, full lips parted. Then she said, "I can respect that."

"I just have one last question." Wakko said.

"Fire away."

"Why do you have white hair?"

Betty chuckled. "Too much blow, Wakko. More than you can imagine, I'm sure." She ran a hand through her now pale orchid-colored locks. "It happened right before I OD'ed. You'd think the pigment lace would've made my entire body darker, but I suppose it has different effects on each toon."

She swept some possibly non-existent cigarette ashes off of her black dress.

"So what's our next move?"

"'Our' next move?" He asked, looking surprised.

"You and your sister are my only leads to Sergio. Wherever you go, I'll go."

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, but whatever. All of this ranting; goodness. He had never pegged the woman as an activist of sorts.

More importantly, what _was _his next move?

Wakko joined Betty in staring out the window at the beach whose tide was flat and swells were small. No matter how much he wanted to tell himself that he was going to do this by himself, that he could take care of everything and things would go back to the way they were, he knew that there was no way, not even with the legendary Betty Boop at his side, that he could do it. He was not a strategic thinker, and never was. It was always act now and think later, and sometimes his way of doing things would have heinous results. This wasn't something he could just go charging into, swinging his fists and making a mess of things, hoping that it would turn out alright. He needed guidance.

"I'll tell you what our next move is, Betty." Wakko said, "We're going back to Burbank."

"What for?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we be out looking for Dot?"

"And what if we run into trouble? We're going to need some more brains and muscle if we're going to risk going up against Sergio's goons."

"Well who did you have in mind?"

"My dearest older brother, of course."

Betty stared at him for a little bit before grinning. "You got a good head on your shoulders, Warner."

Wakko smiled, and said, "Yeah, but Yakkos is better."

…………………………

_Right on Remington. _

_Straight down Harlem._

_Right on Hurst. Keep going. _

_Find the alleyway where the dead cat used to be. Hop the fence. _

_Circle around the third abandoned apartment building on Second Street. _

Her feet were killing her, but once again Dot found herself in a predicament where she was walking the streets for long periods of time, and stopping wasn't an option. The cuts on her face may as well have not been there at all. They were so caked in with dirt and charcoal that they didn't hurt anymore.

_Crawl under the chicken wire east of the Tujunga and Glendale intersection. _

It wasn't easy for her to climb and jump and scurry anymore. But not once did she even question whether or not she would be able to get away from Sergio. If he could track her down, then he must have intelligences that few did. The voice from deep in her stomach was crying. It was clawing gently at her insides, telling their mother to take a rest from all of this strenuous activity. Dot heard the voice, and almost let tears loose at the fact that she couldn't adhere to the little one's advice. It would exhaust them both, it would drown them in fatigue and the baby would beg for nutrients that she couldn't give it.

_Cross the concrete ditch near Linden, and try not to get sewage on the shoes. _

In a single night, just when _everything _seemed so good, she had to wrench herself away from her family once again. And this time, it hurt even worse. When she left the first time it was out of anger and annoyance; and in a twisted untrue way, she was happy about her newfound freedom. This freedom, however, was forced upon her. And she hated to be forced to do anything. Especially when she had not only her own, but another life to care for. When she tried to make things right, everything came back to bite both her _and _her family in the ass.

As everything progressed, the stakes got increasingly higher.

When would the cosmos give her a goddamn break?

_Walk past the small landfill on east Harvest, and don't attract attention from the bull dogs. _

At least she knew where she was going.

Koko the Clown lived in an underground dome in the Riverside County, fifty miles away from where she and Wakko had gotten separated. By now she was sure that she lost them. She had purposefully taken so many turns, just in case she was somehow being tracked. The bastard thought he was so smooth, trying to take her away like that. Like _hell _she was going to be part of any freaking brothel. Even the mention of the idea was sickening, a pure insult to her character despite all the mistakes she thought she made. She could picture herself being led to Sergio's car and then using her own weapons: a bit of her super strength that she as a toon was naturally gifted with, and the element of surprise to slit their throats and make her getaway later. It almost shamed her, how she was thinking about committing murder, and how those thoughts were probably transmuting right into her womb. But since raw survival was the case, she figured she'd apologize later when she made it to Koko's place.

_If _she made it to Koko's place.

Fifty miles was a lot of ground to cover. Even for a toon.

…………………………

It was four in the afternoon. Many of the SB artists and the writers had already gone home. Yakko sat in Simone's office, looking over a small packet of jumbled numbers that anyone else would have looked at with a blank face. But his and Simone's were bleak with understanding. Yakko's eyes skimmed the numbers and the informational text like it was an illicit poison coating the pages. After a few minutes he tossed the papers carelessly back onto the table.

"This is…crap." He said, shaking his head.

"Meet my mortal enemy: budgets." Simone said, massaging the spot in between her eyes with her index finger.

"There's no way we can agree to let them cut our budget. We'd lose one fourth of the studio. And the lay-offs…"

Yakko trailed off and stared at Elsa's framed sketch in all of her creepy, wide-eyed, splotchy skinned, gray-clothed grandeur.

"What do you say we put these hang ups to rest, eh?"

Yakko said nothing. An idea to alleviate all of these problems had been in his mind for months. Until the obstacles started showing up he thought there was no reason to get into something like that; something that might escalate into more concerns. But now, that the studio was suffering with the cuts, he honestly saw no other option.

"Where _is _Elsa, Yakko?"

"That's a vague question. My guess, probably not in this world."

Simone stared.

"Or she _is _in this world, and she's just choosing not to show herself. Which is understandable, in my opinion."

"But her presence in the studio would be…very welcome." Simone said.

"My thoughts exactly. With her working in _person _we would save thousands. The materials to duplicate her character wouldn't even be needed."

"Yeah…"

Simone stood up and put on a scratchy looking wool coat. "I'm gonna go get a drink. I think my brain cells have been through a lot today, so now it's time to kill them all off and end their misery. Wanna come?"

Yakko shook his head. "Go on ahead. I'll stay."

She nodded, and left the office. What he was staying for, he really had no clue. After she left, all he did was listen to the clock tick away, stare at those stupid papers that foretold the possible loss of his job, and feel his tail twitch uncontrollably from the buildup of unfathomable worries. The silence was deafening.

Elsa was drawn by Simone years ago; therefore she _had _to exist somewhere. Many toons emigrated from their own dimension to this one, many simply for the thrill of potential mortality. He was fairly sure that he could die; he certainly aged.

Sure she was free to do whatever she wanted to in Yakko's eyes. But it sure would be a pretty damn good helping hand if she would just come out of the shadows and assist her creator in living her dream. There were some people whose only wishes were to express themselves fully, and his boss was one of those people.

But to actually have the spooky little toon here working for Ersatz, well…Yakko guessed that he should just keep dreaming, because it was likely that it would never happen.

He finally got up and started locking up the studio. One of the reasons that everyone tried to leave as soon as they possibly could was that the last person out had to lock up. It was a tedious job; there were at least twenty rooms that required locking, and it took at least forty five minutes before the said person was able to leave. That afternoon, however, Yakko couldn't have cared the least. Doing such a monotonous task did a good job at giving him a break from his racing thoughts. Plus, he was tired of thinking that his life was going down the toilet. Because as much as he used to try to tell himself otherwise, he wasn't sure what his life consisted of anymore.

The drive home was dull; no expectations there. One of his favorite songs came onto the radio, but he didn't bother to turn up the volume. The half hour drive stretched into one unremarkable blur. He was prepared to go home, take a shower, stare at himself in the mirror wondering if the reflection staring back at him was alive or not, and then spend a boring unemotional night in front of the tube. Yes, it was all planned out. Once he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, it was a whole different story. The second he parked, he noticed something different. Perhaps it was the unidentifiable but somehow familiar Cadillac sitting just two cars away from his own. Or maybe it was because all the way down in the lot, he could barely see a light in his high-rise, and two figures moving behind the drapes.

Yakko clenched his fists. It was an especially bad night for him to get robbed; the flow of money might cease to exist soon.

In that sense, it was a bad night for them as well.

He stepped quietly up the stairs, liquid pounding in his ears as he prepared to take down each bastard who thought they were going to get away with his television or whatever they were looting around for. When he came to his door, he turned the knob gently. He opened the unlocked door, only to have all of his pleasurably searing anger disappear in a flash, and replaced with several pints of liquidated lead under his skin.

His brother saluted him with two fingers as a greeting, smiling while a renowned 30's female toon dressed in a skimpy dress stood next to the window. The white-haired vixen smirked upon his entrance.

"Hey." Wakko said, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm back."


	8. Chapter 8

Yakko crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Good to have you back. Were you on a stroll and you just decided to drop in to see your dear older brother?"

Wakko sighed. "I'll explain everything."

"Yeah, do that. I'm very eager to hear what your excuse is."

Wakko frowned. "If you'll _let _me get a word in edgewise, maybe I will."

The elder Warner bristled, but kept quiet this time. A million things to say were backing up like a broken lavatory behind his lips, and it was quite a challenge to keep them all locked up.

"I don't have time to break this to you gently, so here goes. Dot came back about a month ago."

"What?!"

Wakko shook his head. "Just let me finish. She's pregnant-"

"_What?!_" In a flash Yakko grabbed him by the collar of his navy blue shirt. "What do you mean she's-"

"Yakko, let me finish." He said firmly, grabbing his brother's hands and making him let go of his collar. "She told me that if I called you, she'd leave again."

The million phrases he just wanted to shout at his brother suddenly went back down into his throat and stayed there in a voice-thwarting slimy wad.

"She begged me to take her to a club last night, and a whole bunch of…stuff happened."

Yakko could see that he was staring to hesitate, and starting to lose his steam.

"These guys beat us both up, and said that Bimbo owed them money, so then he was going to take Dot to a brothel and then I tried to stop them but she got away and then-"

"Wakko, for the love of all things sacred, breathe."

Wakko took a deep breath, and it was obvious that he lost where he was. But that didn't matter, he had already confused the hell out of Yakko about fifty words back.

"Why don't you, in a calm and steady fashion, tell me what happened." He tilted his head as he looked at the deep scratch marks and punctures that were all over his brother's face. "And while you're at it, tell me how you got those nasty cuts."

"But…but we don't have the _time_!"

"If I may?" Said a voice that he recognized, but in a way, he couldn't believe that it belonged to one of the most revered females in toon history. Betty Boop stepped away from the window and stood next to Wakko, patting his back.

"Just tell him from start to finish. We won't be able to get a move on if the brains we came here looking for are as confused as we are."

She raised a slender eyebrow at the oldest Warner brother. "So…we finally meet."

"The pleasure's all mine." Yakko said coldly. Even in the presence of a toon marinated in fame, he was still not very happy about this unpleasant surprise. "Now would either of you mind telling me what the hell is going on in a way that I can understand?"

"The problem at hand is that Dot's out there on the streets somewhere, and there's a group of cutthroat criminals who want her in exchange for the drugs her old boyfriend forgot to pay off. Which are the people _I'm _actually after, but finding Dot is a very hefty plus." Betty said calmly.

"So why aren't you out there looking for her?" Yakko snapped.

"We need your help." Wakko said.

Yakko shook his head slowly, barely comprehending what they were telling him because of how pissed off all of this was making him. "She came back a month ago…and you didn't tell me?"

"I _told _you, she said she'd leave again if I let you know."

"Does it look like I care? She up and leaves three years ago without a _trace_, and then she just comes back with a baby of all things, and you didn't even give me the time of day."

"Well apparently she was right for not wanting you to know; seeing as you bitch and moan about everything instead of taking _action_." Wakko spat.

"Boys, boys." Betty said. "This sibling soap stuff would be quite entertaining at any other time, but we have a young lady to find."

The Warner brothers glared at each other, lips pursed and fur standing on end. Finally, Yakko said, "Where would we even look?"

"We were hoping you could lend us some assistance in that department." Betty said.

"And what gave you that idea?" Yakko asked.

"When you live your entire life alongside two people, you tend to know a lot about them." Wakko muttered.

Yakko considered all of this for a few fleeting seconds. His sister was in trouble, and naturally, no matter how much he would have wanted to complain about it, he would risk his life for her at any rate. He may not have liked it, but in the end there was no way he could refuse what they were asking of him. Besides, deep down he knew how she thought, where she might go. And knowing her communal personality, she must have made a lot of connections out there. It was worth a shot.

"Fine. I'll come."

"Wonderful." Betty said. "Let's hit the road then."

The brothers said nothing to each other as they followed her back down the stairs. When they got down to the parking lot, Wakko and Betty went to the Cadillac, but Yakko disagreed.

"Let's take mine. It's faster."

Wakko rolled his eyes, but both of them obliged. Yakko unlocked the doors and got into the driver's seat. Betty slid into the backseat and whipped out a notebook and a cell phone from her breast pocket while his brother sat in shotgun. Yakko looked back at her with his rear-view mirror, noticing the mobile phone.

"Does Dot have a cell phone?"

"Nah, not very many in her position can afford it. Besides, she would've been smart enough to ditch it a long time ago." She said.

Damn. Well, it couldn't hurt to cross off the obvious possibilities first.

It was going to be an hour's drive until they even got close to Mystique Bay's district, and Yakko was furtively going out of his mind at the hush. Betty was busy scribbling notes down onto her stupid notebook, and Wakko was entirely turned toward the window, staring out at the passing scenery. There was enough tension in his daily life; the last thing he wanted was for such a thing to settle down and make everything more uncomfortable now that he finally got at least one piece of his family back.

"So now that we're just peachy in my Corvette, would you like to fill me in a little more, Wakko?"

His brother turned away from the window, probably not expecting Yakko's voice to sound so mellow when just a little while ago he was close to popping a blood vessel.

"Well…like what, specifically?"

"Like why she decided to come back, and why she decided to come back to _you _in particular, for starters."

"Why she came back to _me_? What do you mean by that?" Wakko asked, eyes narrowed.

"Oh come on, Wakko. You and I both know that you two were always at each other's throats when we were all still together. I just find it a little strange that she'd choose you over me."

"She came back to me because somehow she knew that I wasn't going to swallow her freedom up. Because that's your job, remember?"

"She always did have a vivid imagination." Yakko said with gritted teeth.

"More like a good sense of reality. You need to just admit it to yourself that you helped drive her away. You didn't loosen up on her one little bit. I mean, I could walk in at three in the morning after a whole eight hours of doing blow and high as a satellite, and you would just tuck me into bed like I was five years old again. When Dot came home at eleven thirty you chewed her out so badly I was surprised she didn't give you a well deserved punch across the jaw."

Wakko sighed. "It was all those little things, Yakko. They piled up, and she couldn't take it anymore."

The wad was in Yakko's throat again. Although this time, it wasn't like he had anything to say anyways, surprisingly.

"And to answer your other question, she came back because she's pregnant."

That word again. 'Pregnant'. He never minded it before. In fact he always associated it with corny baby showers and nerve-racking but exciting trips to the hospital when delivery was due. But now that it was being used in the same sentence as his younger sister's name, he found he wasn't very fond of it at all.

"How did it happen?" Such a vague question. And Yakko never was one for being vague. The real questions behind the one that stood alone were who the father was and why Dot left him (or vice versa). Lucky for him, Wakko knew what he really meant.

His younger brother's eyes flickered downward. "She was dating a guy named Bimbo. Supposedly they had been together for two years."

Again, untrue to his nature, Yakko was quiet. Bimbo the dog was a scum sucking canine who was known to clinging onto others like a deadly parasite. Yakko didn't even live the kind of life that toons these days normally did who had heard of the dog, but he didn't even _have _to. When you're the co-star of one of the most famous cartoons in animation history, it's kind of hard to keep what you do away from public's eyes, even if you think you're out of the spotlight. The guy had some very nasty connections. Dot's apparent stupidity astounded him. How she ever convinced herself to hang around garbage like that, well…he would ask her that himself when they found her.

"From what I was told, it wasn't exactly…" Wakko trailed off. _Again. _Yakko usually had the patience for his brother's struggle for words, but he wished that he would just spit it out.

"What? What wasn't it?" Yakko asked hurriedly. All of this hesitation was really wearing him out.

"Consensual." Wakko said shortly, blurting out the word like he had a mild form of Tourette syndrome.

Thank god there were few cars on the road, otherwise he probably would have been the on the receiving end of some road rage. Yakko stopped flooring the gas pedal, and became a statue at the wheel. Right away Wakko started to nudge his shoulder, trying to shake him out of the unresponsive shock his body had been locked into. Betty's tiny petite hand flew in front of his face and waved up and down, trying to break the trance. None of it was any use. Yakko's thoughts were screaming so loud and frantic that it was like a million locusts had crawled into his ears and were making their music of droning static.

Finally, someone's palm and set of well-manicured sharp nails connected with the back of his head and brought him back.

"Keep driving, Yakko." Betty said sharply from the back seat. "The last thing we need is for you to have a seizure behind the wheel."

Like a member of the undead, Yakko complied with her coarse demand, but his consciousness was still partially in the confines of his brain. He was afraid to open his mouth, fearing that he would let out a single nonstop scream until he passed out from a lack of oxygen.

As delicate as his brother tried to put it, as much as he could tell that Wakko was going to try and dance around the fact, there was no mistaking what the connotation meant. And it was making him physically sick. The only thing that kept his hands planted firmly on the wheel of his car was that if he didn't, he knew that he would probably never see his sister again. Whether she was taken by this criminal who wanted her in exchange for some missing cash, or whether she disappeared on her own once again, or whether she died. His ego had become a monster that needed to be tucked away finally, if only for a few days so that there would be nothing clouding the feeling he would get when...if, he was to see Dot again. There was no way he could risk not making things right again.

The cars were rolling in. The inner city area was not crowded with traffic, but characters of all sorts were walking the sidewalks, from wealthy business men cursing because they had just spilled coffee on their suits, to inconspicuous prostitutes, both toon and human. But Yakko didn't pay any attention to it. His mind was too occupied with the flickering grainy memories that kept popping up; ones that were so tucked away that they were fuzzy, but yet at the same time, he could remember them so clearly.

Dot had a funny habit when she was younger. She called it 'going out', and she would just go down a few blocks from their home to a natural area (which was more or less like a garbage heap, considering that they lived in Burbank) to a rather private ring of bushes that had a tiny creek running through it. After the tenth time she did it, he stopped following her. He didn't have the time or the patience to keep running after her every time she blew up.

At least that's what he tried to tell himself every time his heart lurched hearing her walk out that door in a huff.

And then one day, she was gone for hours. The seconds grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, and finally he grabbed his jacket and went to where her 'secret' place was. He found her in that littered nature center, lying on her back in the uncut dying grass next to the creek. For some reason he expected to see her crying, or showing some kind of emotion. Well…other than look solemnly bored, all she did was stare at the sky, her hand idly picking at some withered grass beside her.

He knew that Dot was quite different when she was alone. Around other people she was outgoing, both positively and negatively. She never hid what she thought, or what she felt; she let it all out for everyone to hear in that drolly frank and melodiously high voice of hers. But when she was alone, she was suddenly introspective, merely watching instead of participating.

Yakko emerged from the bushes, startling his sister, but it wore off quickly and she once again turned away from him to watch the sky.

"The sky that interesting?" He said, smiling a little.

"It is, actually." She said humorlessly.

Yakko sat down next to her. "Hey, I'm sorry about what happened."

When she didn't say anything right away he thought she had rejected his apology. But then she sighed. "Nah…it's not a big deal. I don't even remember what I was mad about anyways."

"Wakko stashed his dried vomit sculpture of Bruce Lee in your closet. Your wardrobe is ruined." Yakko said bluntly, doing a marvelous job at keeping a straight face as he said it.

Dot blinked, and then narrowed her eyes. "Thank you, _brother._"

"Always here to serve, sister sibling."

She sat up and leaned on his side, resting her cheek on the sleek black fur of his shoulder.

"Oh how you suck, Yakko Warner."

Yakko laughed gently, in return he rested his head on top of hers, silently musing that she was becoming less and less inclined to cut her hair lately.

Life was all hustle and bustle. Every day, the seconds went by like they were the wind; unnoticed and unimportant in today's world. There never seemed to be enough time. Time to do chores, time to go to work, time to feed his brother and sister, time to himself. It was depressing, really; that everything he did was realistically just a little blip of existence as a whole. Insignificant, not worthy of a moment's attention.

Down by the creek, with nothing except the warmth of his sister and the sky that was unaffected by the trials of the creatures below, everything stretched into an eternity. He realized something interesting that day, even if he couldn't fully describe it. He could only sum it up in one word: relativity.

Back in the present, as he drove down the sleazily lit streets, time was going agonizingly slow. Today was one of those nights that relativity was feeling impish.

"This is strange." Betty said softly.

"What's strange?" Yakko said, glancing into his rear view mirror at her.

"I just got a text message from Koko saying that he has Dot."

"What?!" The Warner brothers shouted, and Wakko finally snapped out of his daze of staring out the window.

"And I'm saying it's strange, because that's at least sixty miles from here. Either Dot walked that entire way, or Koko's finally gone senile and dementia's kicking in, which is actually way more practical than the former." Betty said, her tiny thumbs already typing back a message.

"Is she okay?" Yakko asked hastily.

"He didn't say. In fact I was just going to ask him. What do you say we take him up on his crack head claim?"

"Yeah, I guess, but how do you know that the asshole who's after her doesn't know where she's headed?"

Betty chuckled. "Koko's place is underground, and he has security cameras all over the damn place. Wouldn't be surprised if he had landmines too."

"Jesus, what's with this guy?" Yakko said in disbelief.

"He's a bit psychotic, but he's got his shit together, something that I can hardly say for most of toon society lately. And if he's telling the truth, then she's more than safe. For now."

"I say we go then." Wakko said quietly.

"I agree." Yakko said, switching lanes and preparing for the exit they would make when they got outside the city limits.

"Alright, but don't blame me if we go there and it turns out Koko was just being a mad man." She said almost glibly.

"You sound like you don't even believe him. If there's even an inkling that she's somewhere we know of, I'd rather take a chance and check it out than drive around forever not having a clue where to look."

"Hm, true. I'll tell you when to turn when the time comes." Betty said, and turned her head back down to her mobile phone.

The road beneath the tires was rough, but the newness and proficiency of Yakko's car made it seem air-tight inside. The only sounds were the tones of Betty's phone. It had already been forty-five minutes, and Yakko still gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles under the fine fur of his hands and the smooth texture of his white gloves.

"I got them trying to stop them."

"Eh?" Yakko said, glancing at his brother, who had been really quiet.

"I got these scratches trying to stop them from taking her." Wakko said, looking down at his lap.

"Could've told me that a few hours ago, brother sib." Yakko said while raising an eyebrow. His expression softened after a few seconds though at seeing how…dispirited Wakko looked. So instead of subjecting him to more criticism, he reached over and gently patted his blue clad shoulder.

"It's alright, Wakko. You did all you could. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks." Wakko mumbled.

"And-and it's good to see you." Yakko said hesitantly. "You were sorely missed, trust me."

His brother glanced at him, and he could've sworn he saw a tiny smile grace that round face of his.

"I'd give you a hug if it didn't mean crashing into the cement shoulders of the highway and ending our lives with a million shards of glass." Yakko said with a small grin.

The corners of Wakko's mouth tugged upward, and he said, "I understand. Just keep driving; I really don't feel like dying tonight."

Betty smiled genuinely at the scene from the back seat.

* * *

Dot was used to pain. Starvation, food poisoning from eating out of dumpsters, using her feet as her main source of transportation in strawberry red heels, you name it. When the second one of her eyes cracked open, it was like the Notre Dame Bells were ringing with all their might against her nerves. Even turning her head to the side to see where she was sent a dull but effective crack of lightning through her spine to the rest of her body. She groaned softly. At the moment, she had no idea where she was or how she came to be there; she was just thankful that she was warm and that she was laying on something semi-soft.

The blanket covering her was scratchy and irritated the skin of her cheek, but she pulled it closer anyways. As she became more aware of what was around her, she heard the clanging of pans and muttered gibberish from another room. A figure kept going in and out of her vision through the doorway, and it took until the fourth time that it swiftly crossed the other room for her to know who it was. And when she did, she outwardly sighed in relief even though it hurt her chest to do so.

Koko's eccentric wired face peeked into the room, and breathed out an erratic sigh of what appeared to be relief. But with him, you could never really tell.

"You're back on the soft ground of the Earth once again, Dottie?"

"Yeah…" She said warily, giving him the stink eye at the despised nickname. Koko was crazy. He had a weird way of talking too, all sophisticated and stuff; it didn't fit him, she always thought. Both made him a little hard to deal with at times. But he was Betty's partner in crime, so to speak, so Dot treated him as well as she could.

"Wonderful. I alerted Betty to your arrival."

"Why the hell'd you do that?" Dot murmured, and she tried to rise. The movement was in vain, because in an instant Koko rushed over and pushed her back down.

"Ah ah ah! Relax, won't you? I've given you IV's. It wouldn't take much for you to dislodge them."

Dot growled in annoyance, but lay back anyway.

Koko, with his jittery movements at their best, started fumbling around in the pocket of his black baggy pants and retrieved a cell phone.

"You and Betty sure are on great terms." Dot rasped, deciding not to open her mouth again to speak for a while. Her voice sounded like it was about to go out any second.

Koko said nothing to her as he held the phone up to one of his tiny ears. He was speaking uncharacteristically quiet into the phone; whispers with lots of words that Dot couldn't catch, and after a while she stopped caring. She was grateful that the clown had brought her into his strange house without so much as an understandable interrogation to why she was there in the first place. Her whole body ached, but she tried to reassure it that it no longer had to carry her anywhere, that it could rest. For the time being.

The phone snapped shut, and the sound of plastic hitting plastic startled her. "Betty's coming with some company you might be interested in."

"Wakko." Dot guessed faintly. She was fading fast from being shaken from such a deep sleep so swiftly, and the memories of how she got there were becoming less askew by the moment the closer she got to sleep.

"And his brother, apparently."

"Yakko." She groaned softly, like it was painful to say. "I miss him." She said incoherently, her eyes closing like there were pebbles tied to her lids.

Her baby was practically tearing at her insides, pleading her to stop walking, or to sit down for just a few seconds. But Dot knew that at that point, if she sat down, she wouldn't be able to get back up. And then _they'd _find her. It was a jeopardy that she didn't think she would've been able to survive had she faced it again. She didn't even know who they were, yet she was being punished for her ex boyfriend's failure to pay up on his drug money. She supposed she should feel angry at Bimbo for putting her through yet another slew of dangerous situations that she would have a tough time getting out of; perhaps as a last parting gift to his 'lovely gal', as he called her sometimes. But she didn't want that to afflict her now. She had to focus all of her energy on getting better, and on making sure that she wouldn't soon be carrying a lifeless soul within her. That night she learned that fifty straight miles of running and jumping while carrying a child was no walk through the park.

She had collapsed on Koko's low-key doorstop. He picked her up and carried her inside, probably when his cameras caught a glimpse of a young woman with a fat stomach leaning against the front of his house for support. He muttered neurotic ramblings the entire time he hooked her up to the medicine.

_Heh, only a paranoid hermit clown like him would have such equipment lying around_, Dot thought, and as she fell asleep she hoped those needles in her skin were fresh and unused.

She'd deal with her brothers when they got there. Actually, when she felt like waking up again. The world blurred into black, and she fell asleep once again, escaping the twinges that were burrowing their way into crevaces of her body that she didn't even know she had. Needless to say, it had been a rough ass night.


	9. Chapter 9

It was too bad she didn't harness the patience to sit around and listen to Koko spout off his conspiracy theories about…well, everything. Otherwise, she would have had something else to do in that place other than sleep. An hour and a half after she had passed out a final time in the bed in which she was placed, Dot was constantly kept from deep sleep. The gadgets and the gizmos, the hum of the control room that was down the hallway, they all floated through her head and aggregated the pulp of her brain. The electromagnetic field of this place could have been compared to that of Norad.

_That man's going to have a brain tumor the size of a football one day._

So she lied down in the bed staring meaninglessly at the brown textured ceiling, thinking about what events were ahead of her when she would finally met her older brother face to face, when the last time they had spoken was in the middle of an awkward argument/moment of comfort concerning her trying to get a job. Something was sullied during that weird and poorly communicated talk, and she still didn't completely understand what it was. She remembered wanting to hit Yakko, to try to beat it into him that she didn't want to suddenly lead the life of a fameless recluse. A faceless nobody who wasn't worth more than a pimple on the ass of God. She wanted her brothers to feel better about their situation, she truly did, and she wanted to feel better about it too. Because as out of place in the whole middle class scene as her brothers claimed they felt, she could guarantee she felt it twice as badly.

No matter what Yakko just kept running his mouth, kept on trying to chain her down with his words. Finally there was no way she could take it anymore, and so she went away to live her own life, one where she could act however she wanted, do whatever she wanted, and make her own mistakes. So she scratched her reasons for going away on a tiny little piece of paper, and went off into what was then a hopeful and fresh horizon to get away from the proletarian life that she had after _Animaniacs _had ended.

Looking at it now, it was pretty logical that the consequences of her choices would lead her back to her family once again.

Dot finally averted her eyes away from the crumbling ceiling and sat up, rubbing her forehead. Her hair was stringy and oily from having all of the sweat from her journey soaking the strands, and it looked like a stray black dog had died on her head instead of the wavy spider plant resemblance it usually had. Her skin was still on fire, and her lips felt that they would crack if she simply _thought _about smiling. It was like she was ill, but perhaps her body was still getting over the exhaustion. Sulkily, she recalled the short humorous segments toons would do where they would appear to travel at super speeds, reaching their destination in under ten seconds. Toons could be fast, sure. But when you had cheap camera tricks there to help you, it was a lot easier.

It was going on two days since the incident at the Mystique Bay. It was hard to shut Koko up when someone engaged him conversation, but since she didn't do that unless she needed to, they were mostly in separate parts of the house. As grateful as she truly was to him for taking her in and helping her get her strength back like this, Dot knew that the last thing she wanted was Koko for social company. Kooky as he was, what he did was a favor that she wasn't sure she could pay back. It was out of the goodness of his heart, regardless of how the functions in his misplaced brain seemed to interfere.

Barely able to hug her knees because of her stomach, she uncomfortably rested her chin on her knees, challenging her mind to relive the last long series of hours. The body and mind of a sentient being were very strange things indeed. Push them both hard enough to accomplish something, and they are likely to get done. She wanted to survive. No, she _needed _to survive. She needed to feel safe, a place where she knew that she wouldn't be found by the thugs who split her brother and her up right when things were finally starting to shape up a little bit. And according to Koko, he was coming for her. But he had company, both subjects she had difficulty deciding were welcome at this point.

Betty Boop was a friend, a very experienced friend who had tried to warn her of the repercussions of her decisions. Facing her again would make Dot bemoan being seen as an idiot for ignoring the wise toon's advice and breaking their friendship. But the more she thought about that, the more she thought she could handle it. Betty was not into drama. At least, not the kind that involved friends holding eternal grudges against each other. They would simply chat, and things would get straightened out.

Yakko, on the other hand…

Something with a lot more substance had to be carried out with him. She knew a simple 'sorry' and a hug wouldn't be enough. For either of them. There were so many things that she didn't understand about their situation back then, and on his part too. So many misunderstandings; before their show's cancellation they never had a problem with communication. And afterwards, when things were stagnant and money was tight, fights seemed to break out everywhere, like spontaneously manifested fires. Dot's heart clenched tightly when she would see her oldest brother sitting in their apartment's kitchen pondering over the bills and shaking his head dismally.

There were always times that Yakko was stern about his responsibilities; she saw nothing wrong with that. But multiply those obligations by about a hundred, and you got one stifled Yakko Warner. A very hard-to-be-around Yakko Warner. At first she tried to help. She tried to get work, which she supposed made him feel inadequate at the notion that the youngest member of the family had to help with the financial support.

"_I'm not running a sweatshop here, Dot." _

Fiscal sustenance wasn't the only thing on her mind when she went back to the Warner studio three years ago.

* * *

_**Backtrack three years**_

The CEO, now human, who had taken over for Thaddeus Plotz was said to sit even cozier in his position than old 'T.P' did. Plotz had retired only a year and a half before, and she was a little curious to see who was sitting comfortably in that familiar big red chair. Eric Quayle rose to the position with claims of reinventing the animation industry, when in fact many studios were downsized because of his proceedings, Warner Brothers especially.

Dot, seventeen, wanted to be in this line of work once more. Her family was struggling in more ways than Yakko could possibly handle on his own despite his stubborn will to keep on trying, and there was a good chance that they would turn her away, but at least after that no one could say that she didn't try. Besides, who could resist the insatiable Dot Warner? She had reasonable doubts; however they did little to impede her confident manner as she walked with a mission down the roads between the modules of the Warner Brothers studio. That morning she left even earlier than either of her brothers, putting on sleek black suit attire, applying the tiniest amount of blush to her chalk white cheeks, and tying back her shoulder length waves into a firm bun.

The building in which the 'big man on campus' resided hadn't changed at all. Before entering, she cast one look down the asphalt road at the old water tower with the large yellow letters 'WB' carved into the metal. The thing was their home at one point. They were children in their heyday, and although the revenue they pulled in from their show did an ample job of supporting them, they didn't have enough money to buy their way out of the Warner Brothers studio. Once they did though, Yakko wouldn't shut up about how proud he was of it for months. She liked their apartment a lot better, but the water tower had a certain nostalgic quality to it.

The lobby had the usual sparkling fountain in the center with scattered potted ferns. People were on their cell phones or reading their newspapers, eyes straying from their focus as Dot walked passed them. She smiled discreetly. A lot had changed since she was the two foot tall pink skirt wearing whipper snapper. But even though it had been years since she had set foot in the home of her old career, she was still just a teenager. If she was going to be taken seriously, she would have to act older than she was.

Of course, when was that ever a problem for her?

This was a challenge she was prepared to see through the end. Warner Brothers relinquished almost their entire animation studio with only a few sparse SB artists and animators creating nothing more than advertisements. It was an uncomfortable feeling for her to know that she might be seen on television not for her comedy, but for the simple ability to read some damn cue cards. Yeah, like _that _took any talent whatsoever.

But that's all that was left. And rumor had it they no longer took kindly to toons passed their prime. AKA, someone like her.

Oh well…she just had to see how hard she'd have to work over this new CEO. Let's just say she was not oblivious to her smarts _or _her looks, and the both were used to their full advantage when she wanted.

The elevator ride was typical enough. It wasn't like she didn't have to deal with men, human and toon, staring at her ass. She grinded her teeth together hard. On any other day she would've slapped every single one of them clear across the face, or in the least told them to take a picture to last them longer. But not today. Today, she had to suck it up and ignore the perverts and the jerks. The only thing that kept her from handing out a nice retort were the images of her brothers, both working like common slaves while she just sat around at home watching public access and waiting for them to come home.

Dot arrived at the top floor and walked out of the gratefully empty elevator. A toon-drawn-to-look-human secretary was checking her already faultless makeup in a foundation mirror behind a mahogany desk. Taking a deep breath, Dot approached her.

"Hi, Dot Warner." She said softly but shortly.

"Dot Warner…" The secretary put away the mirror, put her hand on a computer mouse, and looked over at her screen. "Ahhh yes…the 7:00?"

"That's right."

"Yes, Mr. Quayle should be with you shortly."

"Thanks."

"Love your suit by the way." She added perkily, picking up the mirror to admire herself once again.

"Yyyeah." Dot said dismissively, but she doubted the bimbo heard her anyway. The chick was a lot like Hello Nurse, strangely enough. But at least she managed to make Dot laugh behind the scenes. This _was _behind the scenes, and stupid people like this lady just served to piss her off in numerous ways.

But it was good they agreed on something; this _was _a damn good looking suit.

"He'll see you now, Ms. Warner."

_Good._

Taking a deep breath and making sure not a hair on her head was out of place, she walked with purpose into the man's office, coming face to face with the deciding factor that would tell whether she would be landed with work or not.

The first thing she noticed was the chair, not the man sitting in it. It wasn't red velvet anymore, but pure black leather. The room before was plain, but never…bleak_. _The man behind the desk was not vertically challenged like Plotz, and while T.P always had a tired look whenever the Warners ever entered his office, this guy looked downright unpleasant. So…_this _was Eric Quayle, the new CEO. In the future, Dot would decide that mean people were a lot easier to deal with than nice people, but right now this wasn't the case. She swallowed at his reproachful expression, and introduced herself clearly.

"I'm Dot Warner, but you probably already know that." _Smooth._

He said nothing; just stared. She took a chance and sat down in the chair across from his desk.

"I was wondering if there was a possibility that you had space for me in your advertising program. You see, I used to work here a while back and-"

"You were in the cast of that hair-brained cartoon _Animaniacs._" He interrupted. His voice was like sand rubbing hard against a glass surface.

"Yes, I was. Which is why I wanted to come back and-"

"And it was canceled in '99 for being aimed at a demographic that wasn't approved of by the station it was airing new episodes under."

Dot narrowed her eyes just the slightest. "Yes, I suppose you are correct. The show was, after all, intended for _everybody._"

"How old are you, Ms. Warner?" He asked.

Lord, this guy was all over the place. And she didn't like it one bit. In fact, he strongly reminded her of Jamie Kellner, and anyone would know that was not a good sign. Heck, she wouldn't have been surprised if they were best friends.

She hesitated before answering. "I'm seventeen years old, why do you ask?"

Quayle made a noise that sounded like a snort. "I didn't know that toons aged. I must say, the years were kind to you."

The compliment did nothing to warm her. If anything, it was only making him out to be even more ignorant than she imagined. "My request, Mr. Quayle."

"I have more than enough of your kind working for me. Sorry for being so blunt, but there's no room for you here."

"What do you mean 'my kind'? I took you for an egotistical jerk, not a discriminatory one." Dot said, no longer able to hold her tongue for the likes of such a cretin.

"I'm going to be honest with you, little Miss. The only use I have for toons is pulling in money and making me look like I'm not the jackass I really am."

"Well that's obvious at this point. And I think that I'd rather starve to death than work for someone like you."

"Besides the fact that I'd rather see most toons ass up in their graves, I'd just like to make something clear." Quayle said. "I'd never hire you. I'd never hire _anyone _like you. The toons I keep around are chosen by me; they don't come in by their own free will asking for a job. They're all I got, and they're all I need. And if they want to keep eating everyday, which most of them do, they don't leave."

Inside her mind she wished that Wakko had kept the gag bag from their old sets. It was just a prop, but it worked perfectly, and she knew that there was a nice heavy mallet inside perfect for giving this bastard a concussion of a lifetime. Dot could have a temper, but she hadn't felt that kind of anger before. Her hands, gloved at the time, were threatening to tear because she was clenching her fists so tightly.

"People like you make me sick." She said lowly, in a feral voice that she didn't know she had. Only Wakko could ever get his voice into that deep growl, but somehow her barely contained rage was causing it. Dot stood up rapidly. "I hope you burn in hell."

Quayle laughed. And it was a disgusting sound. Her ears twitched in pain from hearing it. "Trust me baby, I can deal with that. Just as long as I don't have to worry about senseless toons messing up my system."

Dot stared at him in horror. So, it had come to this.

She stormed out of his office, the sound of her two inch black heels clicking angrily against the shiny marble floor. She fumed in the elevator, trembling and paying no attention to the other businessmen who were once again staring at her ass, and then she fumed some more in the lobby. Outside the building, she walked in a straight line, not even caring who she bumped into on the way out of the lot. The meeting only lasted about ten minutes. Ten minutes was all it took to ruin everything she had planned. She wanted to go home, run to Yakko (or even Wakko) and tell him everything that happened and what kind of horrid man was now licking his chops every time he thought about his position and what power it brought.

But she couldn't. That would mean telling Yakko that she had tried to get a job, tried to get work even though she was still a teenager. That would make him furious. But there was no way she could keep this a secret, even if she wanted to. The man trashed her hopes of helping out. So what if she had succeeded and her efforts would have only gotten them a smidgen farther; she tried, and that was what mattered. Her hope of feeling something other than resentment and worry…just ruined.

There was a bus she could've taken, but didn't. There were at least five cabs she could've hailed, but she didn't. She just kept walking and walking, strands of hair falling out of her loosened bun and hiding her face as she finally came to the complex that she called home. Taking the stairs up to her floor didn't calm her the slightest. She opened the door to the empty apartment. Both her brothers were out, and for that she was thankful, because she was in dire need of some time to herself.

The walk to her room at the other end of the apartment was short, and she kicked off her heels carelessly in the hallway on the way. She closed the door with a slam and forcefully pulled her hair out of the bun. The sun's rays shined through her window; it wasn't even midday yet, but it didn't matter. Everything went to hell in just six hundred seconds with that douchy CEO. Bigotry against toons was nothing unheard of. But she could handle the occasional stares and hurried whispers with wide suspicious and even frightened eyes.

It was ironic how many things the Warners could say they had been through yet there was always something out there that could surprise the hell out of them. Quayle's vomit-inducing words echoed in her ears like a boa constrictor with evil intentions rising just above simple reptilian instinct.

Dot collapsed on her bed face down, emitting bellowing sobs into the pink flowered comforter. Hadshe gotten the job, she knew that Yakko would have no choice but to deal. He could complain all he wanted about her going behind his back and committing herself back to the system when she 'didn't need to'. But whether he admitted it or not, he would inwardly be sighing in relief at the help she would provide.

And she would be basking in her proper place on the television screen, even if it _was _just commercials.

Well…all that was a thing of the past, now. The meeting with the CEO put several arrows through the buoyant part of her personality, the part that always seemed to stay afloat through everything.

Dot lied on her bed for hours crying until she fell asleep, still in her now wrinkled black suit.

In the front of their home the door opened, and a masculine but still quite nasally voice sounded through the apartment. One of her black ears twitched, but she didn't rise to greet him like she normally would. All she did was crack open an exhausted eye.

"Anyone home? Or did I accidentally break into David Copperfield's house?"

She heard everything he did. It was like clockwork. Yakko would hang up his coat, throw his car keys into the key jar, kick off his shoes that he always complained rubbed against his rabbit-like feet the wrong way but wore them anyway, and walk through the hallway to his room, just one door away from hers. Her lack of response must have prompted a more curious side of him, because he called out for her again.

"Where are ya, Dot? The disappearing act is weird."

"I'm in my room." Came her muffled reply. She still didn't raise her head off of her bed.

Her bedroom door opened. "Why're you lying down like that? You sick or something?"

The bed shifted as he sat down next to her.

"Here…" He said, taking one hand and rolling her onto her side, and using the other to gently cup her chin and turn her face towards him. "Well you don't _look _sick. A little stuffy maybe, and your eyes are red." Raising an eyebrow, he added, "Have you been smoking pot?"

Dot made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh, and gingerly moved her chin away from his palm. "Goodness, Yakko. I'm not in the mood."

"That's obvious." He quipped, but he kept a hand on her back and rubbed in firm comforting circles. "You wanna talk about it?"

_No, not particularly. _"I decided to play dress up and then I realized I didn't have my favorite strand of pearls."

"C'mon Dot, for once I'm serious." He paused. "And why _are _you so dressed up? I swear, you look ten years older in that suit. I don't remember ever buying you that."

She didn't answer right away, but her stalling was useless. It was impossible to prolong how pissed off he was probably going to be.

"I went to the Warner Brothers lot today."

"…Why did you do that?"

Dot sighed deeply. Already the tension was rising. "I met with the new CEO. I asked to be part of his advertising department."

"A job? You went to look for a job?"

Here it comes.

"God, Dot. How many times do I have to tell you, you don't _have _to work. I don't _want _you to work. I want you to be here when I come home so I don't have to be reminded that I can't give you guys everything I want you to have, and the youngest member of my family has to work to keep our porcelain pig from going dry."

"That's kind of selfish, don't you think?" Dot said, sitting up and looking him straight in the eye. "I wanted to get a job so we could make ends meet with a little less effort, but the only reason you don't want me doing that is so you can have a little fact to pat yourself on the back with."

Yakko rose from the bed. Now he would take on ultimate critical parent mode: raised voice, judicious choice of words, pointed finger, the works. It happened every time she started talking back.

"I'm not running a sweatshop here, Dot. You don't need all of this crap that Wakko and I are dealing with, you really don't. You may think you do, to satisfy this whole outlook you have of thinking it's going to be sunshine and candy."

"You have to stop assuming what I need! Of course I understand I don't need to work, I _want _to! I'm tired of seeing you guys working your fingers to the bone just so you can slide by with the bills and food, and then I have the nerve to complain when you don't buy the damn frozen dinner that I prefer, and I can't keep on going knowing that I could be doing what I was meant to do, what I was _drawn _to do, but instead I'm sitting around here just waiting for you and Wakko to come home."

There was an ugly expression on her face now, a scowl that didn't suit her typically delicate and adorable features. She glared up at her older brother with fire, angry that he was acting just like she predicted, and that she hated fighting with him like this. She could have just kept her mouth shut, and in turn it would've kept Yakko's quiet too. But now this was going to hell just like everything else that happened that day.

"So now we get to the real reason you want to work." Yakko said, crossing his arms. "And you're calling _me _selfish. Life in the fast lane is over, Dot. Get over it."

"I want to help, dammit. And you're saying I'm wrong for at least trying." She said through gritted teeth. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to ignore the stinging of inauspicious tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. She was so close to crying again, she could practically taste the tear salt already.

Yakko rubbed his forehead in frustration. "You're not wrong, you're just…"

"I don't know why we're even talking about this. I didn't even get the damn job."

In the rarest of instances, Yakko simply stared, but did not speak.

"Eric Quayle may not have given me a spot in the ad division, but he did teach me one thing." Dot said, hastily trying to wipe away those tears that felt like needles against her eyelids, but they were already spilling anyway. "And that's that I can't seem to please anyone. Not even myself."

Tiny rivers streaked against her cheeks. Yakko wasn't angry anymore. He looked like he was in pain as he watched his sister burst into tears in front of him. It was moments like these that really recapped the fact that she wasn't a child anymore. She didn't cry like a hysterical baby to get what she wanted anymore; these days, she only cried for something decent, something that was really worth the temporary crack in the wall which shielded her contained emotions from the world. He sat down on the bed again and pulled her close to him as she reluctantly cried into his chest, all the while trying in vain to form sentences in between sobs.

"And do you know what he said? He told me that he didn't care if he went to hell for his goddamn ignorance, it would be worth it just so he wouldn't have senseless toons screwing up all of his great plans…I swear, I hate people, Yakko."

"I know you don't mean that." He said quietly. And after a few seconds, Dot shook his head and agreed with him.

"People like that just make me so angry." She whispered. "It should be emotionally illegal to feel that angry towards someone."

"I've probably seen worse fights between you and Wakko. You'll get over it…maybe." He said with uncertainty in his voice.

"No, I don't think I will."

"Well he's just another money hungry asshole working toons to death. What else is new?"

Dot didn't say anything, and Yakko sighed deeply. "Look Dot, I've dealt with jerks like that my whole life, and so have you, even though you might not have paid so much attention to them back then. They're everywhere. You can't hide from them, because one way or another they'll always seek you out."

_What if I were to seek them out myself? _Dot thought cryptically.

"Besides, this is a good reason why I don't want you working. You don't deserve to be bombarded with the crap that Wakko and I are."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why, don't think I can handle it?"

"It's not that, it's just-"

"I'm tired, Yakko. I think I'll go to bed." She said dismissively, promptly turning away from him and lying back down onto the comforter.

It was a few seconds before Yakko rose, but when he did, he went quickly with a muttered 'okay, whatever' as he left.

Dot laid there for a long time listening to her brother's footsteps audibly crease every corner of the apartment. Wakko came home too in time, and she could vaguely hear the second oldest ask where she was.

"She's in her room sleeping." Yakko replied.

"It's only the early evening, is she feeling alright?"

Most of the time their concern touched her, made her feel alive and wanted. Tonight, it just made her want to cry again.

"Yeah…she's fine. She just had a shitty day is all."

"How come?" Wakko's voice, ever so inquisitive, had care in its baritone depths.

"She tried getting a job at the Warner Brothers lot, and they turned her down." Yakko said.

"She tried to get a job? Wow…did you warn her about the jerk who works as the CEO there now?"

"I would've if I had known beforehand. And even then I would've chained her down and told her she couldn't go."

"Yakko, I can get why you don't want her dealing with the assholes who work over there these days, but honestly, I can't see the harm in letting her work at least a part time job. And she actually _wants _to, which is amazing. I'd totally be taking advantage of that. Because _I _sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to work at her age, but you made me anyway."

Yakko didn't seem to reply, and after a few seconds Wakko went to the kitchen to fix himself a meal; the silverware, milk glass, and plate being the actual meal, that is.

Dot, still back in her room, clutched her arms and pulled her legs up to her chest in a fetal position. She wanted out into the world. Into that big wide world where it was suddenly forbidden to tread. There was no doubt that she loved her family, but a selfish little worm wiggled into her mind and told her to break away. She didn't plan on listening to it, but for tonight, she could entertain it. Just for tonight.

"She just doesn't get it…" She heard Yakko say out in the other part of their home.

_Maybe I don't, but neither do you._


End file.
